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WAYWARD WINIFRED. 


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WAYWARD WINIFRED. 


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BY 

ANNA T. SADLIER, 

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AUTHOR OF 

U A Summer at Woodville ,” “ Mary Tracy's Fortune," "The Mysterious 
Doorway ,” “ Pauline Archer" “ The Talisman ,” etc., etc. 





NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO: 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

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Copyright, 1905, by Benziger Brothers. 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 

A First Meeting 7 

CHAPTER II. 

At the Castle 14 

CHAPTER III. 

Winifred Asks Questions 23 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Singular Figure 29 

CHAPTER V. 

A Second Visit to the Castle 37 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Schoolmaster 45 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Old Castle 55 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Winifred’s Treasures 63 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Moonlight Expedition 70 

CHAPTER X. 

A Visit to the Schoolmaster 78 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Schoolmaster’s Tale 86 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Schoolmaster’s Secret 94 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Two Visits 102 

CHAPTER XIV. 

How Father Owen Won the Day no 


CHAPTER XV. page 

The Cave in the Mountains 117 

CHAPTER XVI. 

In the Capital 126 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Arrival in New York 135 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

An Unexpected Meeting 143 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Winifred Goes Sight-seeing 15 1 

CHAPTER XX. 

Another Unexpected Meeting 138 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Mystery Solved 166 

CHAPTER XXII. 

At the Convent 176 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Winifred Tells her Name 185 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Letters at Last 191 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Home Again 201 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Roderick Returns, and All’s Well that Ends Well 212 


WAYWARD WINIFRED 


CHAPTER I. 

A FIRST MEETING. 

Perhaps some reader may know the Glen of the Dargle. 
No boys or girls may know it, but perchance their grandsires 
may tell them of a mountain stream which threads its way 
through rugged hills till it falls over a precipice and winds 
onward through a glen of unspeakable loveliness. They may 
remember the ravine shut in on either side by hills, covered 
with gigantic trees, some of which meet across it, forming a 
natural bridge. 

Well, it was upon that bridge that I saw — at first with 
deep amazement, then with fear and trembling — the slender, 
graceful figure, the almost eerie loveliness of Wayward 
Winifred. How she had reached her dangerous position 
was clear enough; for her feet were like the mountain goat, 
and her figure wonderfully lithe and active. I stood and 
gazed at her, afraid to speak lest she should fall from the 
dizzy height. She looked back at me with clear brown eyes, 
and spoke in a voice that held just a hint of the Dublin 
accent to give it sweetness. 

“Are you the lady from America ? ” 

I answered that I was, and a long pause ensued. The 
child was evidently studying me, and I in my turn put a 
question : 


8 


A FIRST MEETING. 


“How on earth, child, did you get up there? And don’t 
you know that any moment you might come tumbling down 
into the water below ? ” 

“ The water wouldn’t harm me if I did,” Winifred replied, 
looking down into the clear depths; “and it knows me well. 
I come here every day, unless there be a storm.” 

“ Is your mother aware of so dangerous a proceeding ? ” 
I asked with some sternness. 

A strange look passed over the girl’s face, and she 
answered with a little laugh, half merry, half wistful : 

“Ah! then, don’t you know? I’m the orphan from the 
castle.” 

“From the castle?” I repeated. I began to think that 
this creature, after all, was a spirit, such as I had been told 
lived in the glens and streams of fairy-haunted Ireland. 

“Yes,” said she, “I am from the castle.” 

“From Powerscourt ? ” I suggested; supposing, of course, 
that she meant the great mansion which all visitors to the 
Dargle felt bound to see. 

“From Powerscourt!” cried she, with contempt in her 
voice. “ Oh, it’s easy to see you are from America ! Why, 
the castle I live in was built hundreds of years before there 
was any Powerscourt at all.” 

I was again struck dumb by this assurance. What castle 
could she mean? I knew of none in the neighborhood, and 
yet I had been studying the latest guidebook with the 
closest attention. 

“ If you come with me some day,” she said, “ I will show 
you my castle, and granny will be very glad to see you.” 

She spoke with a grand air, as though she were, indeed, 
a young princess inviting me to visit her ancestral home. 

“ Where is the castle ? ” I inquired. 


A FIRST MEETING. 


9 


“ Where is the castle?” she repeated, as if in bewilder- 
ment. “Well, it is up, up in the hills. Perhaps you haven’t 
any hills in America ? ” 

I assured her that we had. 

“Well,” she declared, in the same lofty way, “if you 
know how to climb hills, and don’t mind if the road is steep. 
I’ll take you there some time.” 

“To-morrow?” I suggested. 

“No; to-morrow I’m going away off to the Phoul-a- 
Phooka.” 

“Where is that?” 

“ Miles away from here.” 

“Are you going alone ? ” 

“ I’m going with some one,” she answered, with her 
clear, musical laugh ; “ but I won’t tell you who.” 

“ I have not asked,” I said, provoked a little by her cool- 
ness. “ I assure you, dear child, I have no wish to force 
your confidence.” 

“ It’s some one we don’t talk much about,” she said, nod- 
ding her head sagaciously. “ Granny says that there are 
people whom it’s best not to meddle with.” 

“And yet you are going to this place with the outlandish 
name in such company?” I said, almost involuntarily. 

She drew herself up. 

“ Oh, that is very different ! ” she said. “When I am with 
this person I am in very good company; and who so well 
as he can tell me of the Phoul-a-Phooka and all those other 
things I want to hear ? ” 

“ You are a strange child,” I remarked. 

She looked at me, surprised and half offended. 

“How am I strange?” she demanded. 

“ I mean different from others.” 


10 


A FIRST MEETING. 


An expression almost of sadness crossed her face. 

“ I am alone, you see,” she said ; “ and I live up at the 
castle.” 

The explanation was a pathetic one, and I observed the 
girl with greater interest than ever. 

“ I should like to be friends with you,” I declared. 

“ I do not often make friends of strangers,” she said, 
with some return of her former lofty manner — “but, yes, I 
think I like you.” 

“ Very well ; there shall be a compact between us to like 
each other,” I replied. “And the first fruits of our agree- 
ment shall be to arrange what day I may go with you to the 
castle and see your — relative.” 

Something in my speech amused her, and she laughed 
merrily. 

“ Poor old granny ! ” she said. “ You will love her at 
first sight.” 

“ The gift is evidently in the family,” I answered, “ of 
making people love them at first sight.” 

“ In the family ? ” she repeated again, with that look of 
drollery upon her face which had almost upset my own 
gravity. Never mind: you shall come and see for yourself, 
two days from now, when I get home from Phoul-a-Phooka.” 

She slipped down as she spoke from her perilous perch 
and landed safely on the opposite shore, becoming at once 
embowered in greenness, a very goddess of the woods. She 
made a graceful gesture of farewell and turned away, light 
as a young fawn. 

I stood spellbound, watching the path by which she had 
disappeared. Curiosity was aroused within me, and I felt 
an uncommon attraction for this being who seemed of a dif- 
ferent mould from those of common clay. I fell to dreaming 


A FIRST MEETING. 


ii 


of her as I walked home through those exquisite scenes of 
rare and mournful loveliness. The dark story of Erin seemed 
told in her hills and streams. I was also anxious to discover 
what was the Phoul-a-Phooka, and who might be the mys- 
terious companion of her journey to that unknown region. 

I seemed to tread, indeed, on enchanted ground; and I 
could hardly believe that I was the same being who a month 
before had been walking down Broadway, stopping to 
admire the wonderful products of the century’s genius in 
Tiffany’s windows, idly surveying the crowds of passers-by, 
and jostling my way past the Fifth Avenue Hotel. How- 
ever, I had to keep all my speculations to myself and wait 
for that visit to the castle, to which I began to look forward 
with the greatest eagerness. Could the castle itself be a mere 
myth, the creation of a sensitive imagination? On that point, 
at least, I determined to satisfy my curiosity as soon as an 
opportunity occurred. 

I found the landlord of the inn alone that evening, his 
labors done for the day, pipe in mouth, smoking on a bench 
beside the door. He was a somewhat taciturn man, less 
loquacious than most of his race and station, and the sub- 
ject, in some way, did not seem to commend itself to him. 

“ The castle ? To be sure, there’s a castle up there beyant. 
A mighty fine ould place in former times.” 

“ But to whom does it belong now ? ” 

He looked uneasy. 

“ Who is the owner ? Why, that would be hard to tell, 
though I suppose it’s Miss Winifred herself.” 

“ Is she, then, of noble birth ?” I asked. 

“ Oh, it’s not easy to say ! ” he replied, evasively. “ Some 
say she is, and more say she isn’t.” 

Here was a mystery with a vengeance. 


12 


A FIRST MEETING. 


“ Perhaps you can tell me, at least, what is the Phoul-a- 
Phooka ? ” 

The landlord gave me a half-startled look. 

“ The blessin’ of God be about us ! ” he ejaculated, piously. 
“ I wonder now, ma’am dear, why you would care to be 
inquirin’ into things of the sort.” 

“ But what sort of thing is it ? ” I persisted. “ Some- 
thing, I am sure, which we do not have in America, where 
we claim to have so much. Our steam-whistles and the roar 
of our factories have driven from us what Ireland has kept 
— her legends and her poetry.” 

The man did not seem to relish this style of conversa- 
tion, or, perhaps, to understand it; for he answered somewhat 
shortly : 

“ The Phoul-a-Phooka is a wild horse, the devil himself 
takin’ that shape; and woe to any one whom he gets upon 
his back ! ” 

“ Oh, it can’t be to see a wild horse that this child is 
going ! ” I remonstrated. 

“ No, ma’am ; ’tis to a wild, solitary spot, with a power 
of waterfalls in it,” replied the landlord. “ But it gets its 
name from the beast I’m tellin’ you of.” 

“Oh! is that it?” I replied. 

“Yes, ma’am; ’twas there that the horse leaped a preci- 
pice with the tailor that had about him the priest’s soutane 
he was after makin’. The horse felt it like a stone’s weight 
on his back, and down he went with the tailor.” 

The man told the story with some hesitation, as if not 
seeming to believe in it, and yet reluctant to express dis- 
belief openly. 

“ It’s a beautiful spot, though, ma’am ; that’s what it is. 
And mebbe you’d be goin’ to see it yourself some of these days.” 


A FIRST MEETING. 


13 


“Very likely I shall,” I assented; “but first I want to 
see the old castle and the woman and child who live there.” 

“ It’s a good bit of a walk,” said the landlord ; “ but the 
weather is fine, so I suppose you won’t mind that.” 

“No, I won’t mind it,” I declared — “ not in the least, and 
Winifred is coming for me in a day or two.” 

“And I hope she won’t be a Will-o’-the-wisp to you, 
ma’am, and leave you in some bog or another.” 

He spoke with considerable asperity, and but that he 
was just then called away I should have questioned him 
further; for I judged from his manner that he had suffered 
from some of the pranks of my new acquaintance. I smiled 
to myself as I wondered if the girl had been leading him a 
dance over mountain and moor, or what was the nature of 
the particular trick she had played upon the stony-visaged 
landlord. 


14 


AT THE CASTLE. 


CHAPTER II. 

AT THE CASTLE. 

It was a lovely May morning when the landlord of the 
inn came to tell me that Wayward Winifred was waiting. 

“Why do they call her by that name ? ” I asked of him. 

“ Oh, then, sure, ma’am, it’s just because of her whimsical 
ways ! You might as well try to stick a pin through the down 
of a thistle or take a feather from a swallow on the wing, 
as to know what the crathur will be doin’ next.” He looked 
all round as if he feared that the walls might have ears; and, 
seeming in a more communicative mood than before, he con- 
tinued his narrative : “ There’s them that says,” he whis- 
pered, coming close to me, “that all’s not right with her; 
and it’s as well you should know it before you go off to the 
castle with her. She knows too much for one of her years, 
and she’s that wild and whimsical, there’s no stoppin’ her 
whichever way she goes. And she keeps queer company 
sometimes.” 

“ But who were her parents ? ” 

“ Well, you asked me that before, ma’am, but it’s a long 
story. Some will have it that she’s not of mortal stock at 
all. But, to be sure, that’s the old people, with their queer 
consates,” he added, somewhat shamefacedly. 

“ Who takes care of her ? ” 

“Who? Well, as for that, she mostly takes care of her- 
self,” replied the landlord, with a gesture expressive of the 
hopelessness of the situation. 

“ But she can’t live alone. She has, I believe, a grand- 
mother.” 


AT THE CASTLE. 


15 


The landlord gave me a queer look. 

“ Oh, she lives with Granny Meehan, as you’ll see when 
you go there ! But she’s gettin’ restive below. I hear her 
feet patterin’ round, and it’s hard to tell what she might be 
at, so I’d better be goin’ down.” 

“ Say I’m just coming!” I called after the man; and, 
descending presently, looked out of doors, and saw, sitting 
in the branches of a lilac tree, the same figure that I had 
beheld upon the bough which stretched over the ravine. The 
landlord, honest man, was addressing the girl, with some 
anxiety, from the window below. 

“ Come down here, now — that’s a good child ! — or you’ll 
be gettin’ a fall, so you will ; and a nasty cut on your head 
for the doctor to sew up — and breakin’ my fence into the 
bargain.” 

The child laughed, that selfsame musical laugh which 
rang out upon the air like the sound of bells, and she shook 
the tree in her mirth, and sent a shower of the fragrant lilac 
blossoms down upon my head. 

“ I ask you pardon ! ” she said, with a shade of gravity 
crossing her face. “ I didn’t mean to send any down upon 
your bonnet, for a beautiful bonnet it is.” 

She eyed as she spoke the article of headgear which I 
had purchased at a shop on Fifth Avenue, New York. I 
was surprised that she should have perceived any beauty in 
the bonnet, it being quiet in shape and neutral in tint, to suit 
the exigencies of travel. 

When she had descended to the ground, she picked up 
a cloak from under the tree and wrapped herself in it. It 
was one of those peasant’s cloaks of blue cloth, enveloping 
the figure from head to foot, which, as articles of dress, are 
fast disappearing from Ireland; but which were both beconv 


i6 


AT THE CASTLE. 


ing and picturesque. Winifred did not, however, put up the 
hood ; but showed her delicately formed head, with its rich, 
dark hair, cut short, and curling in ringlets about her fore- 
head and neck, and forming a fascinating tangle upon the top. 

“Shall we gp?” I asked Winifred. 

“ Yes,” she answered ; “ if you are ready.” 

And so we went. Our course, at first, lay through the 
lanes strewn with wild flowers, primroses and early violets, 
with the hedgerows white with bloom. The balmy air of 
May, fresher and purer in Ireland, it seems, than elsewhere, 
gently stirred the tender green of the foliage. The lark 
and the thrush sang together a morning hymn. Soon, how- 
ever, the scenery became wilder and wilder; rocky passes 
frowned upon us, and we looked down into ravines that 
might well make the unwary tremble. 

Up the steep path I followed where the girl led with foot 
as sure as a mountain goat. She spoke from time to time 
in her soft, liquid accent. Perhaps it was part of her way- 
wardness to show herself more shy and reserved than I had 
yet seen her, answering my questions in monosyllables, and 
briefly bidding me to beware of dangerous places. At last, 
in a winding of the road, we came upon one of those feudal 
keeps which marked the military character of bygone chiefs. 
Its walls were still intact, and a great donjon reared its head 
to the sky, in defiance of time. 

We could not enter by the iron gates, still vainly guard- 
ing the ruin; for the path beyond them was choked with 
weeds and overgrown with grass. The child led me instead 
through a narrow pathway, and a low door in the thickest 
part of the wall, which had survived all attacks of the ele- 
ments, and was, perhaps, of a later erection. Walls and roof 
were alike uninjured; but I had a strange feeling of pass- 


AT THE CASTLE. 


17 


ing from daylight into chill darkness, when my guide silently 
ushered me into a stone-paved passage, where all was still 
and gloomy. 

It was a relief, at last, to reach a large square room, 
appointed somewhat in the manner of a farm kitchen. A 
peat fire burned upon the hearth, a kettle sang upon the hob, 
a wooden settle stood close by, and strings of herrings hung 
from the beams of the ceiling, flanked by a flitch or two of 
bacon. Homely, comfortable objects they were, making me 
forget my plunge into the past, and convincing me that here 
was life and reality and domestic comfort. By the fire sat 
an old woman, erect and motionless; and though her face 
was turned toward us, she gave no sign of perceiving me, 
nor did she respond to my salute. 

She wore a plain gown of dark gray, of the roughest mate- 
rial, probably homespun, but scrupulously neat. Across her 
breast was pinned a handkerchief of snowy white; and a 
large frilled cap shaded a face, somewhat emaciated, with 
features clear-cut, and white hair showing but slightly under 
the frills. Her eyes were of a dull gray, very wide open and 
seemed to fix themselves upon me with a curious expres- 
sion, which made me strangely uncomfortable. I began to 
ask myself : “Who are these people, and why has this strange 
child brought me here ? ” 

My fears were set at rest when the old woman opened 
her lips, saying: 

“Miss Winifred, alanna! And is that yourself ?” 

There was something so human and tender in the sound 
of the voice that I felt at once drawn to that aged figure, 
which resembled more a statue than a thing of life. 

“ Yes, Granny ; and I’ve brought some one with me,” the 
girl said. 


i8 


AT THE CASTLE. 


A look of something like alarm crossed the old woman’s 
face. 

“A stranger?” she said uneasily. 

“ Yes, dear granny; ’tis a lady from America.” 

This time the old woman started perceptibly, and her 
gaze seemed to fix itself on my face, while there was a 
straightening of her whole figure into rigid attention. 

“ I have been staying in the neighborhood,” I put in ; 
“ and chancing to meet your granddaughter — ” 

“ She is no granddaughter of mine ! ” interrupted the old 
woman, hastily and, as it seemed, almost angrily. “ No, Miss 
Winifred is not.” 

“ Forgive me, please ! I did not know,” I stammered. 
“ I thought she addressed you as granny.” 

“Oh, that’s just her coaxing way! And, besides, it’s a 
custom hereabouts. Ould women like myself are all gran- 
nies.” 

Every trace of annoyance or of fear had passed from the 
serene old face, and the habitual courtesy of the Irish peasant 
became at once conspicuous. 

“Have you a chair for the lady, Miss Winifred, asthore? 
Mebbe it’s a glass of new milk she’d be takin’ after her walk.” 

I accepted this refreshment, partly to establish myself upon 
a friendly footing with my new acquaintances, and partly 
because I was really glad of the restorative after a long walk. 
The milk was brought me by a bare-legged and ruddy- 
cheeked girl of about Winifred’s own age, who did much of 
the rough work about the place ; though, as I afterward 
learned, Winifred, in some of her moods, would insist on 
milking the cow, and driving it home from pasture ; or would 
go forth to gather the peat for the fire, in spite of all remon- 
strance. 


AT THE CASTLE. 


19 


There were things that puzzled me about this unusual 
abode — the scrupulous respect with which the old woman 
treated the girl, the appearance of comfort and plenty about 
this strange retreat in the heart of a once warlike citadel, 
where the chiefs of old had displayed their banners and 
manned the walls with clansmen and gallow-glasses. Then 
the singular expression of the old woman’s countenance, and 
the manner in which she gazed before her, apparently at 
vacancy, once I had stepped out of her range of vision. Only 
one of these mysteries was I destined to solve upon the occa- 
sion of this first visit. 

While I sipped my milk and nibbled at the bit of fresh 
oaten bread which accompanied it, I conversed with the old 
woman ; Winifred standing mute, in the shadow of the deep 
window, as if lost in thought. 

“America’s very far off entirely,” said granny, dreamily 
— “ acrost the ocean ; and they tell me it’s a very fine coun- 
try, with riches and plenty for all.” 

“ It is a fine country,” I said warmly ; “ but there are many 
there who have neither riches nor plenty and who live and 
die in misery.” 

“ Do you tell me so ? ” exclaimed the old woman. “ Look 
at that now! And the boys and girls thinkin’ it long till 
they get out there, and have money in their pockets and fine 
clothes on their backs.” 

“ Well, many of them do succeed,” I remarked ; “ only 
they have to work hard for it. There’s no royal road to suc- 
cess anywhere.” 

“ True for you, ma’am, — true for you ! ” sighed the old 
woman. “ ’Tis the law, and ’twas a wise God that 
ordained it.” 

“ I know one person that got rich without working,” said 


20 


AT THE CASTLE. 


Winifred, speaking suddenly and with a kind of imperious- 
ness. 

I looked at her in surprise, and the granny said, in a sooth- 
ing tone : 

“Ah, then, asthore, don’t be bringin’ in names ! It’s safer not.” 

Winifred, for answer, turned silently to the window, gaz- 
ing out again, and I was left to conjecture that here was 
another mystery. What experience of life could this child 
have had? And who in that neighborhood could have grown 
rich, suddenly or otherwise? When I rose to go I expressed 
my desire to come again. 

“ Mebbe you’d have a curiosity to see more of the ould 
place,” said the woman. 

“ But the castle is not a show place,” cried Winifred, impe- 
riously. “ It’s private property.” 

“ God help your wit ! ” I heard the old woman mutter ; 
but aloud she said with conciliation, almost deference: 

“ Sure you know as well as I do, Miss Winifred dear, 
that every castle in the country, even where the grand folks 
do be livin’, is thrown open every now and again to travel- 
lers.” 

“ This castle is not open to any one,” said Winifred, draw- 
ing her slight figure to its height and addressing me ; “ but 
if you, being from America, would like to see it, I would 
show it to you.” 

I told her that I should very much like to see it, and would 
certainly come again for the purpose. 

“ There’s some stories about the ould place that mebbe 
you’d like to hear, ma’am,” said Granny Meehan, anxious 
to make amends for any abruptness on the part of her charge. 

I told her that the stories would be an additional attrac- 
tion ; and as I was about leaving the room, I remarked : 


AT THE CASTLE. 


21 


“ It’s a glorious day. You should go out, Mrs. Meehan, 
if only to see the sun shining on the mountains.” 

Winifred sprang forward, her face crimson. 

“ For shame ! for shame ! ” she cried. 

I turned back to the old woman in perplexity. The ghost 
of a smile was on her face, as she declared: 

“ I shall never see the bright sun more in this world, — 
I shall never see it more. But I like to know that it is shin- 
ing.” 

Here, then, was the solution of one mystery; and as I 
looked at that fine and placid countenance I wondered at 
my own stupidity ; for though the eyes were wide open, their 
expression told the tale very plainly. 

“ I am so sorry,” I said ; “ I did not know. Can you ever 
forgive me ? ” 

“ There’s nothing to forgive nor to be sorry for,” she 
replied, with a smile breaking over her face like sunshine. 
“ Glory be to God for all His mercies ! I’ve been sittin’ here 
in the dark for ten years; but all the time, thanks be to His 
holy name, as happy as a lark.” 

I turned away, with admiration mingled with compas- 
sion. 

“And,” added the old woman, “ I know the purty sight 
you’re spakin’ of, ma’am dear. I seem to see, as often I 
saw it, the sun playin’ about the hills in little streams of gold, 
and the tree- tops brightenin’ in its glow. Oh, I know the 
hills of Wicklow since I was a wee dawshy ! And there isn’t 
a tree nor a blade of grass nor a mountain flower that Granny 
Meehan doesn’t remember from old days that are far off 
now.” 

I saw that Winifred’s sensitive face was working with 
emotion, while her eyes filled with tears. I also saw that 


22 


AT THE CASTLE. 


she had hardly forgiven me yet for my blunder. I suggested 
gently that we had better go, and the girl made no objection. 
So we pursued our homeward way, silently for the most 
part. Suddenly, I exclaimed: 

“ Oh, what a beautiful nature has that old woman ! ” 

“Do you mean granny ? ” Winifred asked quickly. “Oh, 
she’s as beautiful as — the Dargle ! ” 

And even while we talked burst upon us that view, which, 
once seen, can never be forgotten. Those hills arising on 
either side, clothed in a superb, living green ; and the loveli- 
est of glens below, with the rippling beauty of its stream fair 
as the poet’s river of the earthly paradise; and Powerscourt’s 
splendid demesne to the eastward, and all the mountains about, 
arising grandly, enlivened with that unsurpassed sunshine. 

“ Ye hills, give praise to God ! ” I murmured involuntarily ; 
and paused, feeling Winifred’s dark eyes upon me, with 
inquiry in their glance. 

“It is a verse from the hymn of thanksgiving sung often 
in church,” I said. “ Did you ever hear it?” 

Winifred shook her head. 

“ They don’t sing much in the chapel down below,” she 
said, “ except simple little hymns. It isn’t like the grand 
days when the castle was full of people and the abbey church 
was close by.” 

Then she paused, as if she did not care to say more; and 
as we were now within sight of the hill she suddenly left 
me, waving her hand in farewell, and swinging herself by 
the tree-bridge across the mountain-stream. 

“ Good-by ! ” she called back to me. “And don’t forget 
next time that granny is blind.” 


WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 


23 


CHAPTER III. 

WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 

The morning after my visit to the castle I set out early 
to enjoy the beauties of the Glen, having first partaken of 
breakfast and enjoyed a little chat with my landlord, who 
was growing accustomed to my American inquisitiveness. 

“ Sure she’s a fine woman is Granny Meehan ! ” he said, 
in answer to some opinion I had given concerning her ; “ an’ 
a religious woman, too, and very knowledgeable for her sta- 
tion. But her head is full of queer consates. I think it’s 
most turned by livin’ up beyant alone so long.” 

“ How did she come to have the care of Miss Winifred 
and to live in the old castle ? ” I inquired. 

“ Well, none of us knows — that is, to be sure about it. 
Master Roderick, he was a gay, sportin’ lad. I mind him 
well, tearin’ about the country on his white horse, stoppin’ 
a night now at the ould place above; and away agin, no one 
knew whither. His father, who owned the place before him 
and lived in it every year for a few weeks, was dead and so 
were all belongin’ to him.” The landlord drew breath and 
lowered his voice somewhat. “ Well, in some of his wan- 
derin’s about the country what does he do but get married, 
an’ we never seen the bride down here at all, at all; but it 
was the talk of the country-side that she was of a fine ould 


WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 


stock an’ a rale lady. But he never brought her next or nigh 
the ould place. Perhaps it was ashamed of its bein’ ruinous- 
like or afeard of the gossip of the country-side.” 

I listened with the deepest attention. 

“ It was on All-Hallow-Eve that Winifred there came to 
the castle. Mrs. Meehan, who had been nurse to Master 
Roderick himself, was brought up from the village in haste. 
Fires were lighted, beds got ready, and toward nightfall a 
gentleman in black rode up to the castle door. Now, some 
that saw him say it was the young gentleman himself riding 
his white horse, but more says it was a stranger ; and coming 
the way he did and on that night of all nights ! It’s a quare 
story, and no wonder that the child’s different from other 
childer.” 

“ How old was she when she came ? ” 

The landlord reflected. 

“ Well, I think it would be about seven, though none of 
us ever rightly knew.” 

“Did the father visit her?” 

“ From that time to this,” said the landlord, impressively, 
“ he was never seen in the country-side. There seemed to be 
some secret or other in the business; and Granny Meehan 
never opened her mouth about it, only bowin’ and scrapin’ 
with Miss Winifred here and Miss Winifred there. Some 
do say that she’s afeard of the colleen, and knows well enough 
that she’s not of mortal stock. But that’s the ould people ! ” 
he concluded, with a toss of the head. “ Meself thinks she’s 
Master Roderick’s daughter; though why he should give her 
up and never come near her is more than any mortal can 
tell.” 

“ It is a curious story,” I said ; “ quite a romance, and fits 
in well with your lovely country here and the remains of 


WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 


25 


that grand old castle. But who is this curious companion 
Winifred goes about with and does not care to name ? ” 

“ There’s more than her that won’t name him,” said the 
landlord ; “ though I think it’s Granny Meehan that does be 
cautionin’ the colleen. She’s not afeard of man nor beast 
nor spirit, and if she doesn’t name him it’s on account of the 
ould woman.” 

“But who is" he?” 

“ Now, ma’am dear,” said the landlord, “ I have been dis- 
coursin’ to you already of things that mebbe shouldn’t pass, 
my lips, and I’d be entirely obliged if you wouldn’t ask me 
to have part nor parcel with them that’s unlucky, nor so 
much as to name them.” 

With this I had to be content, and I strolled out to that 
world-famous Glen of the Dargle, and sat down beside the 
stream on grass that was green and soft as velvet. Above 
me on all sides rose the hills, the trees, in their shaded green, 
still sparkling with dew ; the waterfall dashing over the stones 
into the dark stream below, and the tree-bridge overhanging 
that terrible ravine. I might not at first have perceived that 
this bridge was tenanted had not a clear voice suddenly broken 
the stillness, thrilling out some quaint melody, which was 
Irish in its wild, mournful character, and yet had a tinge of 
drollery. I did not recognize it, however, nor could I have 
called it by name. I looked up hastily, well knowing that 
the graceful figure and charming, childish face of Winifred 
would meet my view. Once again, as on a former occasion, 
I hesitated to speak for fear of startling her ; but she addressed 
me presently, bringing her song to a sudden stop. 

“ Good morning ! ” she said. “ ’Tis lovely weather.” 

“ Lovely indeed,” I answered, looking up at her and reflect- 
ing what a strange little creature she was, talking down to 


26 


WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 


me as calmly from that high and perilous perch as though 
she sat on a rocking-chair at a fireside. 

“ My dear child/’ I said, involuntarily, “ you make me 
dizzy.” 

“ Dizzy ? ” repeated the girl. 

“Being up so high and over that deep ravine,” I called 
back; for the noise of the waterfall forced me to raise my 
voice in order to be heard. 

“ The dear old Dargle ! ” she exclaimed, looking lovingly 
down at the stream. “ I sit here, as I told you, almost every 
day. But I’ll come down immediately if it makes you dizzy.” 

She carried out her promise so swiftly and so recklessly 
that it fairly took away my breath. She stood a moment or 
two on the green height, and then ran down to me, her face 
shining with the glow of the morning, full of life and health 
and the very joy of being alive. She was soon at my side 
and threw herself near me on the grass. 

“ Do you like Ireland just as well as America? ” she asked 
me after a pause. 

“ Ireland is very beautiful,” I replied. 

Her face flushed and her eye lighted as she nodded two 
or three times, but did not speak. It was as though some 
one very dear to her had been praised. 

“ I was told once,” she said, “ that streets in America are 
paved with gold. But — perhaps it isn’t true.” She said the 
last words wistfully, as though reluctant to part with an illu- 
sion. “And I suppose,” she went on, “ there are no trees 
there with golden leaves nor birds with silver wings?” 

“ No,” I said ; “ there are no streets paved with gold, and 
no golden trees nor birds with silver wings. But there are 
many beautiful things — glorious mountains, vast forests, 
broad rivers, splendid cities.” 


WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 


2 7 


“ I should like to hear of them some time,” she said, “ if 
you will be kind enough to tell me.” 

“ Oh, I shall tell you anything you want to hear,” I replied ; 
“ for, as we agreed to be friends, one friend must try to give 
pleasure to another.” 

“ Yes, that is true,” she assented ; “ and because of that 
I will show you my castle, though I don’t like showing it 
to strangers.” 

I looked at her with an interest which was enhanced by 
the story I had heard that morning — pathetic, romantic, and 
altogether unusual. 

“You have always lived there?” I asked. 

“ No,” she said, briefly. “ I remember to have lived at 
another place, but that is very long ago and does not matter.” 

It was evident that she did not wish to continue the 
subject. 

“ I shall have to leave you,” she said, all at once ; “ for, 
listen ! I hear the tinkle of a bell, and I am afraid that our 
cow has got out.” 

“ Do you take care of the cow ? ” I asked involuntarily ; 
for the circumstance somehow seemed surprising and out of 
keeping with the child’s appearance. 

“ Oh, Moira does generally ! ” she replied carelessly. 
“ She, you know, is our little maid-of-all-work. Sometimes 
I do myself, though; for I love poor Cusha, and I like to pat 
her silky back and play with her long ears. She hasn’t any 
horns. But she wouldn’t hurt me if she had; for, you see, 
she knows me, and puts down her head for me to pet, and 
lows when she sees me coming. She is a very wise cow. I 
wish she could talk.” 

“ I wonder what her conversation would be like ? ” I said, 
laughing. 


28 


WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS. 


“ Oh, I know ! ” answered the child, confidently ; though 
she laughed, too. 

“You do? Well, let me hear it!” I said, entering into 
her humor. 

“ She’d talk about the sweet green clover and the grass 
and the fields, where she has lived; and about the hills, for 
she’s been up here a great many years. She was born before 
I was, and she looks at everything with her big brown eyes 
as if she were thinking about them. She might be able to 
tell if there were any fairies or things of that kind ; for she’s 
out sometimes in the moonlight, or at dusk and in the early 
morning, too, when people say they pass by.” 

“ You mustn’t believe all the people tell you,” I answered, 
though I was half sorry for the suggestion when I saw how 
her face clouded over. “ Their tales might be like the golden 
streets and the silver birds.” 

She arose slowly, and seemed as if about to turn away ; 
then she added, half to herself: 

“ I wonder if she knows anything about what he is trying 
to find out, what he has found out ? ” 

“ Who ? ” I asked hastily. 

“ Some one,” she said, evasively. “ Oh, the bell is tinkling 
again. Cusha might get lost. Good-by! And come soon 
to the castle. I will show you every bit of it and tell you true 
things about it.” 

She said the last words loftily, as though to let me know 
that all her talk was not of the unreal, the fictitious, the 
poetic. I sat a few minutes longer musing over her and her 
story; and then began to read, perhaps as an offset, a trans- 
atlantic fashion paper which had reached me by mail that 
morning. 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

A SINGULAR FIGURE. 

I was presently tempted to think that my landlord was 
right when he spoke of the “ queer company ” which Wini- 
fred sometimes kept. For, as I was rambling about one even- 
ing under the white blossoms of the hawthorn, I suddenly 
beheld her high up on a mountain pass. This time she was 
without her blue cloak, but wore a shawl of vivid scarlet, the 
corner of which she had wound about her head. Contrasting 
with the emerald green of the grass and the foliage all about 
her, she seemed more than ever like a mountain sprite who 
had suddenly sprung from the ground. 

I was about to advance and address her, when I perceived 
that she was not alone. Beside her, upon the greensward, 
stood one of the wildest and most singular figures it has ever 
been my fortune to see. He was tall, and would have been 
of commanding presence but for a slight stoop in his shoul- 
ders. His hair, worn long, was dishevelled and unkempt, 
surmounted by a high-peaked, sugar-loaf hat, the like of which 
I had never seen before. His breeches were of corduroy, 
such as might be worn by any peasant in the vicinity; only 
that this particular pair was of a peculiarly bright green, 
vivid enough to throw even the grass of the Emerald Isle 
into the shade. A waistcoat of red increased the impression 


30 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


of color. He might have been some gigantic tropical plant, 
so gorgeous and so varied were these commingling hues. 
Over all he wore a garment, neither coat nor cloak, with wide, 
hanging sleeves. His countenance was as singular as his cos- 
tume ; his eyes keen, yet half-furtive, half-deprecating in their 
expression; his chin clean-shaven, showing the hollow, cav- 
ernous cheeks with fearful distinctness. His nose, long and 
slightly hooked, seemed as if pointing toward the ground, 
upon which just then his eyes were fixed. 

He was discoursing to the child ; and, as I came nearer, 
I thought he was using the Irish tongue, or at least many 
Gaelic words. Once he pointed upward to the sky with a 
wild gesture; again he bent down to the earth, illustrating 
some weird tale he was telling; whilst expressions of anger, 
of cunning, of malice or of joy swept over his face, each being 
reflected in the mobile countenance of Winifred, who stood by. 
She seemed to follow every word he said with eager interest. 

In a pause of the narrative he took off his hat and made 
a courtly bow to the child, who held herself erect before him. 
Resuming his talk, he pointed more than once in the direc- 
tion of the castle, so that I fancied he was dwelling upon the 
fortunes of the race who had once abode there and of the 
chiefs and heroes who had made it famous. Once, however, 
I caught the name of Malachy, which might have been that of 
any peasant in the neighborhood ; and again the word “ La- 
genian.” Then the old man relapsed into silence, sighing 
profoundly; whilst above his head the dark leaves waved 
softly and the projecting branches almost touched his hat. 

Winifred finally broke the silence— I heard her clear, child- 
ish voice distinctly: 

“ Ever since we went to the Waterfalls that day I have 
been wanting to talk to you of the Phoul-a-Phooka.” 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


3 1 


“ But I have told you, Miss Winifred,” the man replied, 
with some impatience, “ all that I know. The Phooka is a 
fierce beast, with fire streaming from his eyes and nostrils, 
coal-black and gigantic of size. That is how the legend 
describes him ; and if any unlucky wayfarer meets him he 
is compelled to mount and ride. The place which I took you 
to see is called after him. You know how lovely it is, how 
wild, how solitary, and how well suited to the work I have 
in hand. I made discoveries there, Winifred — indeed, I did ! ” 

Here his voice dropped to a whisper, and Winifred put 
two or three eager questions to him. 

“ But you didn’t tell me when we were there,” she said. 

“ It was better not. We have had listeners,” the man 
responded. 

“ I was thinking,” Winifred went on, changing the sub- 
ject abruptly, “ of that story of the tailor. You know, if the 
Phoul-a-Phooka had ridden down that precipice we saw, with 
him upon his back, why, the tailor couldn’t have told what 
happened; for he would have been killed.” 

“ There’s no saying, there’s no saying ! ” replied the 
stranger, absently. “ There are mysteries, my girl ; but the 
legend declares that it was the garment which the tailor carried 
that caused the beast to throw him off.” 

“Are legends true ? ” the girl asked. 

“ Who knows ? ” answered the old man, with the same 
dreamy air. “ They hold a kernel of truth, every one of 
them.” 

“ The lady says many things are not true,” Winifred 
observed. 

“ The lady ! What lady ? ” demanded the other almost 
fiercely, with a light of cunning gleaming from his black 
eyes. 


32 


A SINGULAR FIGURE . 


“ The lady from America.” 

“ Oh, from America did you say ? ” exclaimed the man, 
in a hushed and trembling voice, bending low and looking 
about him with a terror and anxiety which were almost gro- 
tesque. “ Don’t say that word, Miss Winifred ! Don’t now, 
my beautiful white flower of the mountain ! ” 

The incident reminded me that Granny Meehan at the castle 
had also shown, on the occasion of my visit, a certain alarm 
at the mention of America; and I wondered what mystery 
enveloped this singular child and those who were her guard- 
ians. Winifred had perceived the man’s consternation ; look- 
ing intently at her singular companion, she asked : 

“ Why, are you afraid of people from America ? ” 
Standing thus before the old man, she put the question 
with the point-blank frankness of childhood. 

“ No, no, no ! ” came the answer, hurriedly and with the 
same tone of tremulous eagerness, — “at least, child, it is not 
the kind of fear vou think.” 

“ Why do you shiver, then, and look like that ? ” 

“ Because, O Winifred mavourneen, say it is not for you 
she’s come ! ” 

“For me!” echoed Winifred in astonishment; then she 
burst into one of her merriest peals of laughter, seizing a 
handful of leaves and throwing them at him. “ Why do you 
think that, you dear, old Niall?” 

“ I suppose I’m getting old and full of fears,” the man 
said. “ The winter of life is like the winter of the years. It 
has its chills and frosts, its larger share of darkness. But 
what if one should come and take you away before we are 
ready — before the work we have to do is done ? ” 

“ No one shall take me away unless I like ! ” Winifred 
cried out, throwing back her small head proudly. 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


33 


“ Wilful I know you are as a mountain torrent,” Niall 
answered with a smile ; “ but there are some who might take 
you away against your will and with none to say them 
nay.” 

“ I wish you would not talk so ! ” Winifred said petu- 
lantly, tearing to pieces with her slender, delicate fingers a 
daisy which she had picked up from the grass. She threw 
the stalk away impatiently. “ There ! ” she cried. “ By your 
foolish talk you have made me destroy one of my own little 
daisies; and I always think of them as little children playing 
in the long grass, hiding from one another, letting the wind 
blow them about, and loving the sun, as all children do.” 

The strange man gazed thoughtfully at her as she spoke. 

“ The same old fancies ! ” he muttered ; “ the same turn 
of mind! But I think the country people are right: she’s 
too wise. She has an old head on young shoulders; too old 
a head for a child.” 

It was Winifred’s turn to stare at Niall. 

“ Why are you talking to yourself like that ? ” she asked. 
“ It isn’t polite.” 

But the old man, who had been suddenly seized with a 
new idea, clasped his hands as if in desperate anxiety, and 
bent toward the child, crying: 

“You didn’t tell her, daughter of the O’Byrnes — you 
didn’t tell her? Oh, say you didn’t! For that would mean 
ruin — utter, blank ruin.” 

Winifred looked at him with a flash of scorn that darkened 
her blue eyes into black, — a look of lofty indignation which 
struck me forcibly. 

“ So that’s all you know of me, Niall,” she cried, “ after 
the years that we’ve walked the glen together, and up the 
passes of the Croghans and down by the streams ! You think 


34 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


I could betray what I know to the first stranger that crosses 
my path ! ” 

The man was struck dumb by the passionate cadence in 
the young voice, which went on reproaching, upbraiding, as 
some spirit of the mountain might have done. 

“ Oh, you’re a nice companion for me when you could 
say such a thing — you that taught me the secret of the stars, 
and how they shine down, down just on the spot where that 
which we seek lies hidden, and after showing me its gleam in 
the shining waters ! ” 

“ Miss Winifred,” cried the old man, “ forgive me ! ” And 
he bent one knee before her. “ I was thinking of the ordinary 
child, with its love of telling news; and not of the young 
lady, with the old blood in her veins and a mind of uncom- 
mon acuteness.” 

“ I don’t want you to kneel to me,” she said gravely, in 
her princess-like manner. “ You’re old and I’m young, and 
you should not kneel. Neither should I have spoken to you 
as I did. But you must not doubt me — you must not believe 
I could betray your secret.” 

“ Then you forgive me ? ” said the old man. “And, to 
show you how I do trust you, I’m going to give you another 
present, mavourneen. Oh, the like of it you never saw ! ” 

He drew from his pocket as he spoke some object care- 
fully wrapped up in a handkerchief; but as he unwound the 
wrapping I distinctly saw the gleam of gold, and, to my 
astonishment, a very beautiful gold bracelet, apparently highly 
wrought. The old man displayed it upon a leaf which 
made a charming background. Winifred clapped her hands 
and fairly danced with joy, her eyes shining and her face 
glowing. 

“ Oh, is that for me, you dear, good Niall ? ” she exclaimed. 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


35 


For the third time in my hearing she called the man by 
his name. 

“ It is for you, child of my heart, my beautiful little lady ! ” 
said the man, gratified by her enthusiasm. 

“ It is the most beautiful, far the most beautiful, you have 
given me yet.” 

“ It is a rare gem of art, of faultless carving and of the 
purest gold,” said Niall, triumphantly. 

“Where did you get it, pray?” asked the child. 

The answer I did not hear, for the man stooped low and 
spoke in a whisper. I feared that, being discovered, I should 
find myself in an awkward predicament; so I thought only 
of beating a hasty retreat. In so doing I stumbled and fell. 
Fortunately, it was upon soft moss — the kindly breast of 
Mother Nature. 

Winifred’s keen eyes saw what had occurred, and she ran 
instantly to my assistance. I assured her that I was not hurt, 
and, on rising, looked about for her strange companion. He 
had disappeared as completely as if the grassy sward had 
opened and swallowed him. The child did not say a word 
about his having been there; and, for some unexplained 
reason, I felt that I could not ask any questions. There was 
about her more than ever on this occasion that air of pride 
and reserve which was sometimes so noticeable. 

As soon, however, as she saw that I was unhurt she left 
me in a rather more unceremonious fashion than usual. She 
feared, perhaps, that I might refer to her conversation with 
the man whom she had called Niall. I watched her walking 
away more thoughtful than usual, her step scarcely touching 
the grass, so light was she; and I marvelled at her singular 
destiny. 

When I reached the inn I took the landlord into my con- 


36 


A SINGULAR FIGURE. 


fidence, to the extent of telling him that I had seen Winifred 
in company with a peculiar-looking man, and that he had 
seemed disturbed when she spoke of the lady from America. 
As I had overheard a chance conversation, I felt bound, of 
course, to say nothing of the bracelet, or of certain other 
allusions in the old man’s discourse which had puzzled me. 

“ Some do be sayin’ that he has the Evil Eye,” remarked 
the landlord, referring to Niall ; “ and, though meself doesn’t 
hold much with them ould notions, there may be somethin’ 
in what they say, after all. For the colleen bringin’ you into 
the discoorse mebbe turned his ill-will upon you and caused, 
p’raps, the fall you had.” 

I smiled at this, assuring him that the fall had a very 
natural cause, my foot having caught in the root of a tree. 
But I could see that he was still unconvinced and regarded 
Niall as a more dangerous individual than ever. And, find- 
ing it useless to argue, I retired to my room to think over 
the events of the morning. 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 


37 


CHAPTER V. 

A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 

It was not so very long after this occurrence that, led on 
by the beauty of a moonlight night, I wandered somewhat 
farther than usual from the inn. The soft radiance of the full 
moon was streaming down over that exquisite landscape. I 
stood and gazed at a tiny stream which lay sparkling and 
shimmering with magical brilliancy; and as I did so I saw, 
coming through the dark masses of foliage on a mountain 
path, the same figure which I had before seen in company 
with Winifred. The man’s outline seemed larger and more 
gaunt than before. I presume this was due to the uncertain, 
flickering light of the moon through the trees. 

An impulse urged me to conceal myself. I slipped into 
the shadow and watched Niall approach, with a curiosity 
which was full of awe. His head was up in the air, so that 
he resembled those magicians of old who read the stars and 
pretended to discover in them the secrets of the future. It 
was evident that he was making some calculation; for he 
stopped from time to time, counting rapidly on his fingers. 

He finally advanced close to the edge of the stream and 
knelt down. He peered into the clear depths so keenly that 
it seemed as if he were counting the pebbles on the bottom. 
All the time he muttered to himself, but quite unintelligibly, 
so that I caught not a word. At one point, where the rivulet 
was shallow, he felt with both hands very carefully for some 
time, taking up and throwing down again handfuls of clay 
or pebbles. 


38 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 


Suddenly he threw up his arms with a strange, triumphant 
exultation; and, rushing in among the trees, he brought out 
something which seemed like a crock. He placed it beside 
the stream; and then, as I still watched and waited, his jubila- 
tion gave place to caution. He began to look all about him, 
stooping and shading his eyes with his hand so that he might 
better penetrate the gloom, while he turned his head in every 
direction. I wondered what he would do if he should discover 
me. The idea was, to say the least, uncomfortable at such 
a time and in such a place. All around darkness save for the 
light of the moon; everywhere the intense stillness and soli- 
tude of a rustic neighborhood, in which all the world sleeps 
save those “who steal a few hours from the night.” I was 
alone with this singular being, whose wild, grotesque appear- 
ance was enough to frighten any one; and once I thought 
I saw his burning eyes fixed upon me in my hiding-place. 

I scarce dared to breathe, fearing that every moment he 
would pounce upon me and drag me forth. But it was soon- 
evident that he did not see me. His face lost its watchful 
look, and he advanced once more toward the moon-whitened 
stream where he had left his crock. He cast a hasty glance 
upward and I heard gealach — the Gaelic word for the moon 
— pass his lips, coupled with that of Winifred ; and then he 
began to take up what seemed like mud from the bed of the 
stream, filling the crock rapidly. 

When this was full, he seized the vessel and disappeared 
at a fearful rate, as it seemed to me, up the steep path by 
which he had previously descended. I was conscious of a 
great relief when I saw him vanish in a turn of the road ; for 
there had been something uncanny even in the huge shadow 
which he cast behind him, and which brought out the weird- 
ness of his figure and of his garments, as well as of his won- 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 


39 


derful, sugar-loafed hat. I was afraid to come out from my 
hiding-place for some time, lest he might be looking down 
upon me from some dark place above. 

I went home, with a firm determination to discover, if 
possible, who was this singular person, what were his pur- 
suits, and whence he had come. I felt that on Winifred’s 
account, at least, I should like to know more of her ill-chosen 
companion. I was certain that the landlord, though a natural 
gossip once his tongue was unloosed, would relapse into taci- 
turnity if I strove to make him throw light upon this mys- 
terious subject. My only hope lay in Granny Meehan. She 
seemed a reasonable and conscientious woman, certainly 
devoted to the girl. Therefore I would appeal to her to dis- 
cover if Niall were worthy of her confidence, if his dreamy 
and unsettled condition of mind made him a suitable com- 
panion for Winifred, and if such companionship would not 
disgust her with the realities of life, prevent her from acquir- 
ing a solid education and the training which befitted the sta- 
tion to which I believed her to belong. 

I had become deeply interested in the girl, though I had 
not as yet formed the project, which later developed itself, 
of taking her with me to America and putting her in one of 
the celebrated convent schools there. Her condition even 
then seemed to me a sad and perilous one : her only guardian 
apparently a blind woman, who, despite her devoted affec- 
tion, had neither the power nor, perhaps, the wilt to thwart 
Winifred in anything. The girl’s nature seemed, on the other 
hand, so rich in promise, so full of an inherent nobility, purity, 
and poetry, that I said to myself, sighing: 

“No other land under the sun could produce such a daugh- 
ter — one who in such surroundings gleams as a pearl amongst 
dark waters.” 


40 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE . 


I paid my second visit to the castle, therefore, on the very 
day after my moonlight glimpse of the mysterious Niall. It 
was a bright morning, flower-scented and balmy, with that 
peculiar balminess, that never-to-be-forgotten fragrance of the 
Irish atmosphere in the May time of the year. I stood still 
to listen to a wild thrush above me as I neared the castle, and 
the thrilling sweetness of its notes filled me with something 
of its own glee. Winifred was in the old courtyard feeding 
some chickens, gray and speckled and white, with crumbs 
of oaten bread and a bowlful of grain. She was laughing 
gaily at their antics and talking to the fowls by name: 

“ No, Aileen Mor! You’re too greedy: you’re swallow- 
ing everything. Gray Mary, you haven’t got anything. 
Here’s a bit for you. No, no, bantam Mike, you can’t have 
any more ; let the hens eat something ! ” 

The large speckled fowl that Winifred had first addressed 
stalked majestically to and fro, snatching from its weaker 
brethren every available morsel ; while the little ones ran in 
and out, struggling and fighting in the most unseemly man- 
ner over the food Winifred let fall. 

The child, on seeing me, nodded gaily. 

“ See,” she said, “how they fight for their food ! They’re 
worse even than children ! ” Then she added in her pretty, 
inquiring way, with the soft modulation peculiar to the dis- 
trict : “ I suppose, now, there are a great many fowls in 
America ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” I replied — “ fowls of every sort. I think you 
will have to come to America some time and see for your- 
self.” 

A flush passed over her face, making it rosy red; then 
she said, with the curiously imperious manner which I had 
so often before noticed: 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 


41 


“ I am going there some time : I have to go.” 

She turned once more to the chickens, silently this time; 
and her manner, as plainly as possible, forbade me to ques- 
tion her. No child had ever impressed me in this way before. 
It was not that she was unchildlike nor what might be called 
old-fashioned ; but she had that about her which was partly 
the effect, no doubt, of the peculiar deference with which 
she was treated by the blind woman and by Niall the wan- 
derer. 

“ I suppose I may see Granny ? ” I remarked ; and she 
answered : 

“ Oh, yes ! She will be very glad. She is always in there 
near the hearth.” 

I was glad that Winifred showed no disposition at the 
moment to abandon her occupation of feeding the fowls ; for I 
wanted to have at least a few words with good Mrs. Meehan on 
the subject of Winifred’s association with the grotesque per- 
sonage whom local tradition seemed to invest with unusual if 
not unholy powers. I passed through the stone passage, and, 
entering the square room, found the blind woman, as before, 
in statuesque attitude near the hearth, where on this occasion 
no fire was burning, its place being filled by an enormous 
bunch of clover, placed there by Winifred. The blind woman 
recognized me the moment I spoke. 

“You’re heartily welcome, ma’am!” said she, smiling; 
and we went on to exchange a few commonplaces about the 
weather and so forth. 

It was a still day without, and we heard every once in 
a while the voice of Winifred calling out her commands to 
the fowls; and presently she was in conversation with some 
one whom Mrs. Meehan explained to be Moira, their little 
maid-of-all-work. 


42 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 


“ Sure, then, Miss Winifred, we might go the night with 
Barney to bring home some of the sods of peat. Barney 
will be havin’ the cart out, an’ we may as well have the drive,” 
Moira said. 

“ Yes, I think I will go,” said Winifred, “ after the May 
prayers at the chapel. I’m going, when tea’s over, to pick a 
great posy for the Blessed Virgin’s altar. But it will be 
moonlight and we can go after.” 

“To be sure, we can, miss,” assented Moira; adding the 
information that “Barney got a power of fine fish the day, 
an’ he sold it all at Powerscourt, barrin’ one big trout that’s 
for yourself, Miss Winifred. An’ the gentry over there gave 
him two shillin’s, but he’s puttin’ them by to take him to 
Ameriky.” 

“ Every one has a craze for America,” said Winifred’s 
clear voice. “ Even I am going there some day.” 

“ Musha, then, an’ I hope you’ll take me with you ! ” cried 
Moira, coaxinglv ; “ for what would I be doin’ at all, at all, 
without yourself ? ” 

“ We’ll see when the time comes,” declared Winifred. “ I 
might take you — that depends. But you’d better not say any- 
thing about it; for perhaps if people got talking we mightn’t 
go at all.” 

“ I’ll be as secret as — as the priest himself in the confes- 
sional ! ” promised Moira. “An’ that’s secret enough. But 
I can’t help wonderin’ what it would be like out there?” 

“ It’s a splendid place they say, with mountains and 
rivers,” began Winifred. 

“ Sure an’ we have enough of them ourselves, with no 
disrespect to them that tould you,” said Moira. 

“ In America they are different,” said Winifred, grandly. 
“And, then, there are great forests — ” 


A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 


43 


Moira scratched her head dubiously. 

“ With deer and Indians in them.’’ 

“ I'm afeard of Indians/’ commented Moira promptly. 
“ I read a terrible story about them once in a book that Father 
Owen gave me.” 

“Oh, well, we shan’t be very near them if we go!” 
explained Winifred. “And it would be very fine to see them 
at a distance.” 

“ I’d rather not see them at all, if it’s the same to you, 
miss,” declared the determined Moira. 

“ The deer, then, and the buffaloes and all the wild ani- 
mals, and grand cities, with shops full of toys and dresses 
and beautiful things.” 

“ Oh, it’s the cities I’d like to be seein’, with shops ! ” 
cried Moira. “We’ll keep away from the hills and streams, 
Miss Winifred asthore, havin’ them galore in our own coun- 
try. An’ we’ll keep away from the forests, for fear it’s the 
wild Indians we’d be cornin’ across.” 

Her tone was coaxing, with that wheedling note in it pecu- 
liar to her race. 

“ Oh, it’s to the cities I must go ! ” said Winifred. “ But 
I don’t know what a city is like, Moira. I can’t make a 
picture of it to my eye. It is a big place, crowded with people, 
all hurrying by in a stream; and the shops — ” 

“ I seen a shop once ! ” exclaimed Moira. “ There was 
things in the window. It was a thread-an’-needle shop, I 
think.” 

“ There are all kinds in big cities,” said Winifred ; “ and 
I can’t make pictures of them either. But once I remember 
— I just seem to remember — a strange place. Perhaps it was 
the street of a city, with shining windows on either side. 
A gentleman had me by the hand; and presently he put me 


44 A SECOND VISIT TO THE CASTLE. 

before him on a horse and we galloped away, and I never 
saw those things again.” 

I heard these artless confidences of the young girl in the 
pauses of my own discourse with the blind woman, who heard 
them, too, and sometimes interrupted our talk with : “ D’ye 
hear that now, ma’am ? ” or, “ The Lord love her, poor 
innocent ! ” 

But though I smiled and paused for an instant at such 
moments, I did not allow myself to be turned away from 
the main object of my visit, and at last I burst boldly into 
the subject which was occupying my mind. 


THE SCHOOLMASTER . 


45 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

When I mentioned the strange apparition which I had 
seen with Winifred on one of those mountain passes over- 
looking the Glen of the Dargle, I saw that Granny Meehan 
was troubled and that she strove to avoid the subject. 

“ Winifred seems very intelligent,” I remarked. 

“ That she does,” the old woman assented cordially. 
“ Times there be when Pm afeard she knows too much.” 

“Too much?” I inquired. 

Granny Meehan nodded as she added: 

“ Some says that it serves me right for lettin’ her go to 
school so long to the mad schoolmaster.” 

Her voice sank almost to a whisper as she said the last 
words. 

“ The mad schoolmaster ! ” I repeated, feeling that here 
was no doubt the clue for which I had been so long seeking. 

“ Whist, ma’am dear ! Don’t speak that name so loud, 
— don’t, for the love of God ! ” she interposed eagerly. 

“ Why, Mrs. Meehan,” I said warmly, “ you are too 
sensible and too religious a woman to believe all the nonsense 
that is talked hereabouts.” 

The old woman shook her head and hesitated a moment. 

“ I’m not sayin’ that I believe this, that or the other thing,” 
she declared, almost doggedly ; “ but at the end of life, ma’am 
dear, we get to know that there are people and things it’s 
best not to meddle with.” 


46 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


“ Was that the mad schoolmaster I saw with Winifred ? ” 
I asked — lowering my voice, however, in deference to the 
caution which I felt angrily disposed to call superstition. 

“ Sure I suppose ’twas himself and no other,” declared 
Mrs. Meehan, with a half sigh. “ Miss Winifred has a real 
heart-love for him ; and sometimes it makes me uneasy, 
because people say he’s too knowledgeable to have come hon- 
estly by his wisdom. There’s no tellin’. But be that as it 
may, there’s no other evil told of the man. He’s been like 
a father to the poor little one and given her all the schoolin’ 
she’s had.” 

“ He is a schoolmaster, then ? ” I asked. 

“To be sure, ma’am, and a mighty fine one entirely; so 
that for many a year them that wanted their childer to have 
more book-learnin’ than they have themselves, as folks do 
nowadays, sent their gossoons to him, and the girls as well. 
And a kind and good master he was, I’m told : never a cross 
word passin’ his lips. And a fine scholar, with a power of 
learnin’ in his head.” 

“ Does he still keep the school ? ” I inquired further. 

“ He doesn’t, ma’am, more’s the pity. But ’twas this 
way. One began to be afeard of him, sayin’ that he wasn’t 
lucky ; and another began to be afeard. The word flew from 
mouth to mouth, till but few enough remained. Then of 
a sudden he up and told the people that he wasn’t goin’ to 
teach no more in the hills of Wicklow; and he closed up his 
school and off with him for a month or so. He came back 
again, do you mind? But he never would have no pupils 
except Miss Winifred. And when the people seen that they 
tried to get him to take back the school. But it was all of 
no use: he’s that set agin it that Father Owen himself could 
do nothin’ with him.” 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


47 


“But how does he support himself ?” 

Granny Meehan turned her head this way and that, listen- 
ing, to be sure that no one was about ; then she leaned toward 
me, seeming to know by instinct where I sat, and began 
impressively : 

“ Oh, it’s a queer kind of life he’s led since then ! He 
still has his cabin up in the Croghans — you may see it any 
day. Sometimes he’s there and sometimes he isn’t; but many 
a tale does be told about his doin’s up yonder. There was 
one that watched him by night, and what do you think he 
seen ? ” 

I could not imagine, and said so. 

“ He saw him puttin’ stones into an iron pot, like this 
very one here that hangs on the hob for the potatoes.” 

I glanced at the utensil mentioned, while she went on with 
her tale. 

“ Well, with that the gossoon that was spyin’ on him took 
to his heels and never stopped till he was safe at home; and, 
of course, the whole countryside knew of it by the mornin’. 
And, then, the schoolmaster goes wanderin’ round in the 
night when honest folks are in their beds ; and kneelin’ down, 
they tell me, by the water side, as if he was prayin’ to the 
moon and stars or to the fishes. Now I ask you if that’s fit 
Conduct for a Christian man ? ” 

“ He may have his own reasons for all that,” I suggested. 
“ Men of learning and science do many strange things.” 

“ I’m afeard it’s for no good he’s actin’ so,” said Granny, 
in a cautious whisper. “ Some will have it that he’s wor- 
shippin’ the devil; for how else could he get the gold and 
silver they say he has? He disappears now and again, — 
vanishes, as the story is, down into the ground or into some 
cave of the hills, and comes back with a power of money to 


48 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


bury somewhere; for he never spends it honestly like other 
folks/’ 

I pondered over the woman’s narrative, vainly seeking for 
an explanation, and finally setting it down to the exaggera- 
tion of the simple country people. Parts of it tallied with my 
own observations; but, of course, I was prepared to accept 
any other solution of the mystery than that which was popu- 
larly given. 

“ The main thing,” I said, “ for you to consider is whether 
or no he is a suitable companion for Winifred. Whatever 
his pursuits may.be, I believe he is of too unsettled and 
visionary a mind to have a good influence upon the child.” 

“ Some do say, of course, that he’s mad,” reflected Mrs. 
Meehan ; “ and sure he goes by the name of ‘ the mad school- 
master.’ ” 

“ Such may be the true state of the case,” I said musingly ; 
“ and it would be all the more reason for preventing his con- 
stant association with Winifred.” 

“ Mad he may be,” observed Granny Meehan ; “ though 
you daren’t say that much to Miss Winifred. She ever and 
always stands up for him. When the scholars were leavin’ 
the school above, she spoke up for the schoolmaster, and 
didn’t spare those that deserted him. So from that day to 
this he comes here every day of the week to teach her.” 

“ He is still teaching her, then ? ” I inquired. 

“To be sure, he is, ma’am! He tells her that she’s never 
too old for the learnin’ — not if she was the age of that old oak 
there before the door.” 

Granny Meehan fell into a deep and apparently painful 
reverie, out of which she roused herself to say, apprehensively 
lowering her voice to the utmost: 

“And, ma’am, what makes me the most anxious of all is 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


49 


the trinkets he do be givin’ her. I’d never have known a 
word about it, but my hearin’ — praise be to God for His good- 
ness ! — is mighty sharp, even though I haven’t the sight of 
my eyes; and I heard some words he let fall, and next the 
sound of metal striking against metal, like the tinkle of a 
bell.” 

“And then?” I asked. 

“ Why, then I taxed Miss Winifred with what was goin’ 
on, and she’s as truthful as the day and wouldn’t deny nothin’. 
So she up and told me of the beautiful trinkets of real gold 
he gave her. And I was vexed enough at it, and bid her 
throw them in the fire; fearin’ mebbe they were fairy gold* 
that would be meltin’ away, leavin’ ill luck behind.” 

“What did Winifred say to that?” 

“ She just fired up and bid me hold my peace, for a wicked 
old woman — she did indeed, ma’am.” 

And here Granny Meehan softly wiped away a tear. 

“ But I know she didn’t mean it, the darlin’ ! And she 
was that soft and lovin’ after that I could have forgiven her 
far more.” 

I remembered, while Granny spoke, the dainty, exquisitely 
wrought bracelet which I had seen displayed upon an oak 
leaf. But I preferred to keep that knowledge to myself and 
to hear all that the old woman had to tell. She presently 
added : 

“ Well, ma’am, when he comes the next day Winifred up 
and tells him what she did; and he flies into such a passion 
that I declare to you I was frightened nearly out of my wits. 
Such a-ragin’ and a-stampin’ as went on, for all the world 
like a storm roarin’ through the castle on the wild nights. 
But Miss Winifred has that power over him that you’d think 
it was a fairy was in it, layin’ spells over him. And she 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


So 

scolded him for his bad temper, just as would myself; and 
stamped her foot at him. And the next thing I heard him 
askin’ her pardon, quiet as a lamb.” 

“ She’s a strange child,” I exclaimed. 

“And why wouldn’t she with the upbringin’ she’s had ? ” 
cried Granny Meehan. “ But don’t you think now, ma’am 
dear, that it’s enough to make me heart ache with trouble to 
have the schoolmaster bringin’ his trinkets here? How would 
he come honestly by such things? Not that I believe he steals 
them, ma’am — it isn’t that.” 

She paused in her perplexity; adding quickly, in the awe- 
struck tone in which the simple people of the remote country 
districts speak of things which they suppose to be beyond 
mortal ken: 

“ Sure, then, ma’am, the only way he could come by them 
is through the old fellow himself, barrin’ he gets them from 
the ‘ good people.’ ” 

“ But this Niall is a good man, is he not?” 

“ I never heard ill of him but that I’m tellin’ you of,” 
replied Granny Meehan. “ Still, we’re warned that the devil 
himself can take on the likeness of an angel of light; and if 
that’s so, what’s to hinder old Niall from bein’ sold body and 
soul to the devil ? ” 

“ Well, I think we’d better give him the benefit of the 
doubt,” I said. “ If he appears to be a good man, let us believe 
that he is.” 

“Yes, mebbe you’re right,” observed Granny Meehan. 
“And the Lord forgive me for speakin’ ill of my neighbors! 
But it’s all out of my anxiety for Miss Winifred. The baubles 
may come not from the powers of darkness at all, but from 
the ‘ good people ’ ; and that would be harmless enough, any- 
how.” 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


Si 

“ In America we have no fairies — or good people, as you 
call them,” I said jestingly. 

“ They tell me they’re scarce enough in Ireland these days,” - 
Mrs. Meehan replied gravely. “ It’s only here among the 
hills we have them at all, at all.” 

“ I am afraid I should have to see to believe,” I said, 
laughing. “And now, Mrs. Meehan, in all our talk you have 
not told me who the schoolmaster is.” 

A deadly paleness overspread the old woman’s face, and 
she sank back into the chair. 

“ The Lord between us and harm ! ” she muttered, “ don’t 
ask me that, — don’t now, asthore ! ” 

“ But you know.” 

“ Is it I know ? ” she cried. “ Is it I would be pryin’ into 
such things ? ” 

I was more puzzled than ever. There was actual terror 
in Granny’s tone. 

“ How absurd ! ” I said, partly vexed. “ What mystery 
can there be which makes you afraid even to hint at it ? ” 

She leaned toward me, her blind eyes rolling in their 
sockets, her thin lips quivering. 

“A hint I’ll give you,” she said, “ to keep you, mebbe, 
from talkin’ foolishly and cornin’ to harm. He’s of the old 
stock, I believe in my heart, come back to earth, or enchanted 
here, just to keep an eye on what’s goin’ on.” 

I laughed aloud. But she raised her hand in solemn 
warning. 

“ Don’t for your life — don’t make game of things of that 
sort ! ” 

“ Well, putting all that aside,” I said, with some impa- 
tience, “ what is the general opinion of the country people 
about this man ? ” 


5 2 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


I asked this decisive question, though I had a pretty fair 
notion of what it might be from the fragmentary hints of 
my landlord. 

“ Well, it’s good and it’s bad,” she replied, nodding her 
head impressively. “Truth to tell, there’s so many stories 
goin’ about the schoolmaster that it’s hard to know the right 
from the wrong. There’s them, as I was sayin’, that declares 
he’s mad, and there’s more that’ll tell you he’s worse. And 
mind you, ma’am dear, none of them knows about the trinkets 
I was speakin’ of, barrin’ Miss Winifred and myself. For 
she put it on me not to tell; and of course I didn’t till the 
blessed moment when I opened my heart to you, knowin’ 
well that you’d never let a word of what I told you pass your 
lips.” 

“ I shall keep the secret, of course,” I promised ; adding : 
“As to the man’s character, the truth probably lies somewhere 
between the two opinions; but I still think him an unsuitable 
companion for Winifred, because he is likely to fill her head 
with all kinds of nonsense.” 

“ It’s God’s truth you’re tellin’,” said the old woman. 
“ But Miss Winifred’s that fond of him there’s no use in 
talkin’ agin him.” 

There was a touch of bitterness in Granny Meehan’s tone. 
It was evident that this attached nurse resented, in so far as 
it was in her gentle nature to resent, her young charge’s par- 
tiality for the mysterious old man. 

“And Miss Winifred,” she continued, “ sweet and all as 
she is, can be as wilful as the wind. She has known the old 
man all her life, and he tells her all the queer stories of the 
mountains and glens and rivers ; and he acts toward her as if 
she were a grand, fine lady — and so she is, for the matter of 
that ; for the child comes of a splendid old stock on both sides.” 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


53 


I sat listening to the old woman, and thought how the 
strange things she had told and the strange character we 
were discussing fitted in with the place in which it was being 
told : the massive stone walls, and the lozenged windows with 
their metal crossbars; the air of times long past which hung 
over everything; the blind woman, who might have been sit- 
ting there forever in the solitude of her blindness. 

“ Mebbe, ma’am,” said Granny Meehan, breaking a silence 
which had fallen between us, “ if you were to say a word to 
her — I can tell by the sound of her voice when she names 
you that she's taken a very great likin’ to you — mebbe she’d 
listen.” 

“ Well, if this Niall has so strong an influence over her 
as you say, believe me the word of a stranger would do no 
good. It might possibly do harm in prejudicing her strongly 
against me. It is better to win her confidence first, if I can. 
Meanwhile I shall keep my eye upon the schoolmaster and 
find out all I can concerning him. Of course I shall not be 
very long in the neighborhood, for I intend returning to 
America during the summer.” 

“America is a fine country, they tell me,” said Granny 
Meehan, with a sigh. “And if I had my sight, mebbe it’s 
there I’d be goin’ some day, when — ” she stopped abruptly, 
as if afraid to say too much; and then placidly continued: 
“ Glory be to God for all His mercies ! it wasn’t to be. In 
His wisdom He seen that blindness was the best thing for me.” 

A smile, bright and soft as a summer sunset, lighted up 
her old face as she spoke; but even as I looked at her, with 
wonder and admiration at her faith, which was sublime in its 
simplicity, a black shadow fell suddenly upon the window- 
pane. I did not know what it was at first, and fancied that 
some great bird, which had built an eyrie in the ruined don- 


54 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


jon, had swooped down to earth in the light of day. I soon 
perceived my mistake. It was the figure of the schoolmaster 
which had thus shut out the sunlight, and I imagined there 
was something menacing in its attitude. 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


55 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE OLD CASTLE. 

In another instant the figure of the schoolmaster had -van- 
ished from the window; and Winifred entered, full of life 
and youthful spirits, recounting the details of her proposed 
ramble that evening with Moira and Barney, away to the 
bog for turf sods. 

“ Can’t you leave it to themselves, Miss Winifred 
asthore ? ” said Granny. “ Gatherin’ peat is no work for you.” 

“What are these arms for?” cried Winifred, holding out 
a pair of strong young arms, which suggested health and 
strength in their every movement. “Am I not good for some- 
thing as well as Barney and Moira ? ” Suddenly she changed 
her tone, running over and laying her soft young cheek 
against the wrinkled one of her nurse. “ Think, Granny,” 
she said, “ what the bog will be like with the moon shining 
down upon it, making all sorts of ghostly shadows ; so that 
after a while we shall just run for our lives; and Barney will 
whip up his roan horse and bring us home, shivering for fear 
of ghosts and fairies.” 

“ Winifred,” I observed, “you are far too fanciful for 
this nineteenth century. You will have to come away to 
America and get rid of all these unreal ideas.” 

Her face clouded at the mention of America, and she rose 
from her pretty attitude beside Mrs. Meehan, straight and 
tall as a willow. 


56 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


“ I told you I was going to America,” she said coldly ; 
“ but I suppose people have fancies out there just as well as 
we have, only of a different kind.” 

There was a touch of shrewdness in this remark which 
amused me. 

“ Well, I suppose you’re right,” I said. “ But such things 
should be fought against everywhere — or, at least, kept in 
their proper place.” 

“ Fought against ! ” cried Winifred, with sudden warmth. 
“And what would the world be without fancies? Just as dull 
as the bog without the moon.” 

I felt that in a measure she was right, but I said nothing ; 
and she presently added, in her ordinary tone: 

“ I think we had better go now to look at the castle. 
Another day I might not be able to show it to you.” 

I rose at once to accompany her ; and then she added, with 
a half-petulant, half-playful air: 

“ I suppose you will only care to see the bare walls. And 
that won’t be much ; for it’s the fancies that give them 
beauty.” 

“ Forgive me, Winifred! ” I said. “And show me the old 
walls with your own light upon them — clothed with the tapes- 
try of your own fancy.” 

Her face brightened and she regarded me with a winsome 
smile, saying: 

“ Come, then, and I’ll tell you everything ; and you may 
think what you like and say what you like. I won’t get cross 
any more. And if you talk about what you do in America, 
I will just say in my own mind : ‘ Oh, I suppose they have 
the bog without the moonlight out there; and if they are 
satisfied, it doesn’t matter ! ’ ” 

“ She is indeed too old for her years,” I thought ; “ but 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


57 


so charming withal, who could help loving her? Her very 
wilfulness and what might seem like rudeness in another are 
redeemed by her voice and manner.” 

“ What if I were to go in Barney's cart and see the bog 
by moonlight ? ” . I ventured to suggest. 

Winifred reflected. 

“ Barney would not object, I think,” she decided. “ But 
it may be best to ask him. He might feel abashed with you ; 
and I know Moira would not speak a word, but just hold 
down her head and kick her heels together.” 

“ In short, I should be a wet blanket,” I went on. 

“ I should like to have you with us,” Winifred said. “And, 
after all, the others might not mind much ; so perhaps you had 
better come.” 

I laughed at the form of her invitation, but said that I 
would go. 

“ Very well,” said Winifred ; “ that is settled. And here 
we are in the castle.” 

By this time we had passed through a long stone passage 
similar to that by which I had entered the room where we had 
left Granny Meehan ; and from that time my interest grew 
and grew. Some parts of the castle were quite ruinous, so 
that we dared not enter, and only gazed in silence into gloomy, 
vault-like rooms, from which the floors were crumbling away. 
Here owls and bats held nightly revel; and Winifred told 
me, with bated breath, that there walked ladies of the olden 
time at midnight or knights with clanking armor. Again we 
came to halls into which streamed the light of heaven from 
ruinous roofs. 

“ We have games of hide-and-seek in some of these 
rooms,” said Winifred, laughing. “ Oh, you ought to see 
Moira and me tearing about here!” 


58 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


We mounted at last to the donjon and looked down upon 
the moat, which was grass-grown; and upon the sally-ports 
in the walls and the battlements, time-stained and covered in 
places with ivy, the growth of centuries. 

“ They used to give battle in those days,” said Winifred. 
“ Wasn’t it fine to mount the flag on this tower and say to 
invaders that you would die before you gave up the castle ?*’ 
Her cheek glowed, and she tossed back the curls which were 
tumbling about her forehead. “And then the trumpets would 
be sounding down below, and the horses of the knights neigh- 
ing, their lances shining, their banners waving. Oh, I wish 
I had lived at that time ! ” 

Her words had called up a vivid picture from the past, 
and for a moment I stood and let my eyes wander out far 
over the hills. But Winifred called to me, and, taking my 
hand, led me down the winding stairs again. After that 
we went in and out of a succession of apartments, bewilder- 
ing in thefr number and size; all bare, lofty, stone- walled and 
stone-paved. Here and there a faded tapestry still lingered, 
or a banner fluttered in the breeze which stole in through 
many a crack and cranny. At each pause which we made 
my guide was able to tell me some entrancing story, some bit 
of legendary lore which had all the charm of reality. 

“ If you know about the Red Branch Knights,” said Wini- 
fred, “ you must have heard of Cuchullin.” 

“ He is the Lancelot of Irish romance,” I assented. 

“ Well, I don’t know anything about Lancelot,” replied 
Winifred. 

“ It doesn’t matter for the moment,” I said. “ Lancelot 
was a knight of great valor, always doing noble deeds.” 

“ So was Cuchullin ! ” cried Winifred, eagerly. “ Oh, I. 
could tell you wonderful things he did, even as a boy ! ” 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


59 


“Tell me one, at any rate,” I pleaded. 

“ Well, I will tell you how he got his name,” she began. 
“ He went to the house of the smith who was giving a feast 
for the great King Conor (Conor was the boy’s uncle). The 
smith had let out a great hound, for the King forgot to tell 
him that Cuchullin was coming. The boy came and gave 
battle to the hound and slew him. When the smith found 
out that his hound was dead he grieved very much, because 
the dog had tended his' flocks and herds. The boy then offered 
to watch the cattle and guard them till a hound of equal 
strength could be found. And because of that he was called 
Cu-Culann, or the dog of the smith. He had to fight both 
dogs and men in defence of the cattle. But, then, he was a 
very brave boy ; and, oh, it is a fine thing to have courage ! ” 

“And to use it well as that boy did,” I put in. “ I suppose 
he grew up to be as good and brave a man.” 

“ Yes, he was a very famous knight. He gained many 
victories and protected the poor and weak.” 

I smiled as I watched her fine, mobile face alight with 
the adrrtiration she felt for that knight of the far-off past. 

In the middle of a great room which we entered Winifred 
stopped abruptly ; and when she spoke it was ’ with awe in 
her voice. 

“ In this room,” she observed, “ was quartered for almost a 
whole winter the great Finn. Do you know who Finn was ? ” 

“ Perhaps he is the same as the Fingal of the Scotch,” 
I replied. 

“ Perhaps so,” said Winifred, indifferently ; “ but I don’t 
know anything about Fingal. This Finn founded an order 
called the Fianna Eirrinn. He married Grania, ‘ the golden- 
haired, the fleet and young ’ daughter of King Connae, who 
lived on the Hill of Tara.” 


6o 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


It was quaint to hear Winifred telling these legends or 
bits of ancient history in exactly the same language in which 
some older person had told them to her. I asked her to 
explain what kind of an order it was that this legendary hero 
had founded; and she told me it was a military order of 
knights who had sworn to defend the kingdom against foreign 
foes. She added that Finn possessed the gifts of poetry, of 
healing, and of second-sight — the latter from a fairy into 
whose palace he had succeeded in thrusting one hand. 

“ It is really wonderful how you can remember all these 
old stories ! ” 

“ Niall has been telling them to me ever since I was a 
little child,” replied Winifred ; “ and I remember a great 
many more. In that hall downstairs which you see from this 
gallery, the harper sang to a great company about the mines 
in these hills and the golden treasures buried in the earth — ” 

She stopped abruptly, as if frightened, looking at me 
intently. But at the time her words conveyed very little to 
my mind except the poetic idea. 

“ In that same great hall down there,” said Winifred, 
“ used to be set up ‘ the caldron of hospitality/ Every one 
that came was fed. Princes, nobles, minstrels, servants, pil- 
grims, beggars — each had a place at the big tables which 
used to be there.” She paused and looked down, as if she 
could see the brilliant scene before her. “ In the middle of 
the room there,” she cried, “ the chief Conal was warned by 
the spirit who watches over the castle that he was to die that 
day. He was very strong and brave and beautiful, and he 
didn’t fear death a bit. He went to meet it; and in a battle, 
beside King Brian, he was killed by a Dane.” 

We passed on, pausing at a great chamber, with windows 
ivy-hung, giving out upon that exquisite scenery which has 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


61 


made famous the name of Wicklow. I looked out over the 
hills, whence a purple mist was lifting, leaving them illumined 
with a golden haze. 

“ I like the legend of St. Bridget,” Winifred remarked. 

“ Tell it to me,” I said. 

“ I suppose in America you believe in saints ? ” said Wini- 
fred, with such a look of drollery that I burst out laughing. 

“All good Catholics do that,” I said, “ even if they are 
Americans.” 

“ Of course this is a legend,” Winifred went on ; “ and 
Father Owen — my dear Father Owen — told me that not all 
the legends told of the saints are true ; but I think this one is.” 

“ I should like to hear it,” I repeated. 

“ Once St. Bridget was on a journey with some com- 
panions, and stopped to ask hospitality of the chief. He was 
away with his harper, for in old times every great person 
had a harper. But the chief’s sons were at home, and they 
brought in their guests to the hall and spread out a banquet 
for them. While they were at table, St. Bridget looked up 
at the harps and asked the sons to give her some music. They 
replied : ‘Alas ! honored lady, our father is away with our 
harper, and neither my brother nor myself has skill in music. 
But if you will bless our fingers we will try to please you.’ 
Bridget then touched their fingers with the tips of her own, 
and when the brothers sat down to the harps they played such 
music as was never heard. All at once the old chief came in 
and he stood spellbound at the exquisite music which his sons 
were bringing from the harp strings. He wondered very 
much, for they had never played before. But when he saw 
St. Bridget he understood it all.” 

“ This old castle is full of beautiful legends,” I observed. 

“ Yes,” said Winifred. “ Niall says he isn’t sure that all 


62 


THE OLD CASTLE. 


these things happened in this castle. He says, perhaps the 
minstrels or some one collected them from a good many castles 
and pretended that they all happened here. There are such 
a lot more I could tell you if there was time, but it is getting 
dark.” 

It was true ; the dusk was creeping over the hills and down 
into the valleys, like some spirit of peace, causing all toil to 
cease and bidding all nature rest. 

“•If you will promise^oh, promise faithfully! — not to 
say a word to any one nor to ask too many questions, I will 
show you something,” said Winifred suddenly. 

“ I suppose I must promise,” I said. 

And then she led me into a wing of the house which was 
in astonishingly good repair. 

“ The rooms here are all furnished,” she remarked cas- 
ually, “ because people lived here once.” 

She did not say who and I did not ask. Finally she opened 
the door of a small room adjoining the kitchen in which 
Granny Meehan still sat solitary. 


WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 


63 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Winifred's treasures. 

The room into which Winifred led me was a model of 
neatness. The curtain upon the window, the cover upon the 
small bureau were of snowy-white; and the counterpane upon 
the bed was blue-and-white patchwork — a piece of art in its 
way. 

“ Granny did it all herself before she got blind,” Winifred 
explained. “ It was for my mother ; but my mother never 
came here, and so I got it.” 

She handed me a chair as she spoke, — a high-backed, stiff 
wooden one, evidently of rustic manufacture; and, mounting 
upon another chair, she reached to the top of a rude wardrobe, 
or press, which stood in the corner. Thence she brought down 
a deal box, which she placed carefully on the floor, seating 
herself on a low stool beside it. 

“ I'll give you three guesses what is in there,” she said, 
looking up at me with her bright smile. 

“ Your three guesses remind me of Portia’s three caskets,” 
I answered. 

Winifred shook her head slowly. Evidently her knowl- 
edge did not extend to Shakespeare. 

“ Portia’s caskets sound pretty,” she remarked ; “ but I 
don’t know what they are.” 

“ I must tell you that pretty story some time. Her suitors 
were so many that she declared that only he who chose the 


64 


WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 


right casket should win her. Each suitor had to guess. The 
first of those caskets was gold — ” 

“ Oh, you knew before ! ” interrupted the girl. 

“ Knew what ? ” 

“ I don’t understand how you could have guessed so 
quickly.” 

“ But I have guessed nothing,” I said. “ I only mentioned 
that the first casket was of gold.” 

“ Oh, I thought you meant to tell me in that way that 
you knew what was in my box ! ” Winifred explained. 

I stared and she suddenly withdrew the cover. My eyes 
were almost dazzled. 

“ There is gold in my box, — real pure gold,” said the 
young girl. 

And gold there was, amazing both in quality and quantity. 

Winifred saw my astonishment, with innocent triumph. 

“ Look at that ! ” she said, detaching from the mass of 
shining metal a crown, which she held up for my inspection. 
While I looked she drew forth several other articles, all of 
peculiar make but of dainty and delicate design, some more 
richly wrought than others. There were collars, brooches, 
rings, bracelets, — thin bracelets, such as were worn in the 
olden days by kings and warriors. 

“ My dear,” I said, “ this is wonderful — like some Irish 
edition of the ‘Arabian Nights/ I feel as if I had got into 
the cave of the Forty Thieves or some such place. Where 
on earth did those things come from?” 

“ I can’t answer questions,” Winifred said ; “ but I wanted 
you to see them, they are so beautiful and so very old. Occa- 
sionally I take them out to play with them.” 

“ Costly playthings ! ” I murmured. “And since they are 
so old, how did they come to be so bright?” 


WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 


65 


Winifred grew red as she explained: 

“ Somebody polishes them with stuff to make them bright, 
but you mustn’t ask who.” 

“ But, my dear child, I ought to tell you that I know 
who has given you these things,” I said gravely. 

The flush faded from the girl’s face, leaving it very pale. 

“Ah, I must have betrayed his secret, then ! ” she cried. 
“ He trusted me and I was false ! ” 

“ You have not done so intentionally. I was in the wood 
one day when you were given a bracelet — ” 

“ Oh, that was the day you fell down ! I thought you 
hadn’t seen the bracelet, because you never spoke of it,” Wini- 
fred said, in such real distress that I was only anxious to com- 
fort her. 

“You need not be afraid. Since you trust me so far as 
to show me these beautiful things, you may also believe that 
I shall keep the rest of the secret.” 

“ That is different,” observed Winifred. “ He told me 
never to tell where I got these things; and now Granny 
Meehan found out, and you found out too.” 

“ My dear,” said I, “ there is one thought which occurs 
to me, and which I must put in words. Bring your stool 
over and sit near me.” 

She did so, her dark curls almost resting on my lap. 

“ My thought is this. How does the person who gives 
you all these treasures procure them ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ You promised not to ask questions ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ Nor am I asking any which I expect you to answer,” 
I said quietly. “But are you sure that these ornaments are 
honestly come by?” 

Winifred sprang to her feet, her face crimson as upon 


66 WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 

that day when I had made the blunder about Granny's 
sight. 

“ For shame!" she cried — “ for shame! How could you 
think of such a thing? Niall, who is so good and who is 
giving his whole life for one purpose ! ” 

I did feel unaccountably ashamed of myself. 

“ You must remember that I do not know Niall," I argued. 

“ Do you think evil of people without even knowing 
them?" Winifred cried impetuously. “ If that's the way they 
do in America, I don’t want to go there, and I won't go there." 

“ It is the way of the world, as you will find when you are 
older," I replied somewhat sharply; for I was vexed at being 
put in the wrong by this child. Having been treated with 
deference by all about her since her infancy, she knew little 
of the respect due to those who were older ; and only such 
religious training as she had received from Father Owen, 
with an innate sense of propriety and a natural courtesy, 
prevented her from being that most objectionable of beings 
— a spoiled, selfish child. 

I saw that Winifred was already ashamed of her vehe- 
mence, and I pointed to the stool at my feet. 

“ Sit down again, little one," I said, “ and let me finish 
what I have to say; for I think it is my duty to speak out." 

She obeyed in silence, and after a brief pause I went on: 

“ This is how it all appears to me, or would appear to any 
one of experience. The man Niall seems poor, leads a strange, 
solitary life, and yet he gives you articles of great value. 
There is, to say the least of it, a mystery as to how he pro- 
cures them." 

Winifred said not a word, but sat still with downcast 
eyes. 

“And, since I am upon the subject," I added, “ I may a§ 


WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 67 

well tell you that he is not, in my opinion, a suitable com- 
panion for you.” 

“Not a suitable companion ! ” the girl repeated, raising 
her eyes to my face in astonishment. “ Niall, who has taught 
me nearly everything I know ! Why, if it had not been for 
him I should have been as ignorant as Moira. I love him 
as if he were my father.” 

“ He has taught you a great deal that is wild and vision- 
ary,” I argued. “ You know nothing of the realities of life. 
You are content to lead this wandering, aimless existence, 
when life has real duties, and, as you must find, real cares and 
sorrows.” 

This reproach seemed to touch her; for, with one of 
those strange flashes of intuition, she seemed at once to catch 
my meaning. 

“But how can Niall help that?” she cried. “He has 
been very kind to me. He told Granny to teach me my pray- 
ers, and took me to Father Owen himself, so that I could go 
to confession and make my first communion; and he spends 
his whole life working for me. What should I do without 
him? I have no one else except dear old Granny, and she 
is blind.” 

There was something so pathetic in the way all this was 
said that, almost involuntarily, the tears came into my eyes. 
I began to realize that the man had done and was doing 
his best for the child, but his best was not sufficient; and, 
sitting there beside that heap of now disregarded treasures, 
I formed the resolve, in spite of all difficulties, to take the 
child with me to America. She might return later to be the 
guardian spirit of this old house and to repay Niall and 
good Granny Meehan for the devotedness with which they had 
watched over her childhood. But she must first acquire that 


68 


WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 


knowledge of the world, the real world of her own day, in 
which she was now so deficient. 

There was little reason to doubt from her appearance that 
she was indeed, as Granny Meehan had said, of a fine old 
stock. Therefore she must be educated as a lady. I should 
try, if possible, to solve the mystery concerning her parents ; 
and then I should take her with me to the great country 
beyond the seas, where the wildest dreams are occasionally 
realized; and where, at least, there is opportunity for all 
things. I knew, however, that this would mean diplomacy. 
If I were to broach the subject to her just then, she would 
probably refuse to come. I must first win her; and I must 
gain the confidence of Niall, if that were at all possible. He 
would understand far better than this child of nature the 
advantages of a journey to the New World and of a good 
education there. 

“ I wish you knew Niall ! ” Winifred said, with a sudden- 
ness which startled me, — it was so like the echo of my own 
thoughts. 

“ I wish so too ! ” I replied fervently. 

“ But it is very hard. He does not like strangers ; and 
he seems to dislike people from America most of all.” 

“ That is very unfortunate ! ” I said, laughing. 

“ Yes,” assented Winifred. “ Still, he might like some 
of them very well — if he knew them.” 

She said this with the utmost simplicity. I did not tell 
her that I was going to seek Niall’s acquaintance; for I 
feared she might warn him and he might disappear, as was 
his wont from time to time, or take other means of prevent- 
ing me from carrying out my purpose. I told her, instead, 
that I must be going; that I had had a most delightful day 
and was charmed with her castle and her legends. 


WINIFRED’S TREASURES. 


69 

“ How grand it must have been when it was a real castle,” 
she said ; “ and when there was an abbey near by, with a 
church, and the monks singing! It was one of the race who 
founded that abbey, in thanksgiving for having been saved 
from great danger.” 

“Ah, those were the days of faith!” I exclaimed. “And 
whatever evil the people did they repaired it nobly by pen- 
ance and by the great monuments they built up.” 

As we turned to leave the room I asked Winifred: 

“Are you going to leave all these valuable things here ? ” 

“Why, of course!” she answered in surprise. 

“ Can't you ever lock them up ? ” 

Winifred burst out laughing. 

“ Lock them up ! ” she said. “ Why should I do that ? ” 

“To save them from being stolen.” 

“As if anything was ever stolen here! I can assure you 
there isn’t a robber in the whole countryside.” 

“ Why, that is as wonderful as your treasures ! ” I 
exclaimed, as we went in to where Granny Meehan sat, as 
usual, placidly by the fire, a great cat purring and rubbing 
its furry sides against her gown. The animal fixed on me that 
glance of grave scrutiny with which these feline creatures 
appear to read one’s whole history, past, present and to come ; 
after which she arched her back and lay down near the hearth. 

Winifred walked down with me a piece of the way, after 
I had said farewell to Granny Meehan, who had heard my 
glowing praises of the castle with flushed cheeks, down which 
stole a tear or two of pride. When we were parting, Wini- 
fred remarked wistfully: 

“ I think, perhaps, Niall and I are different from any 
other people. But it’s no use trying to change us: we shall 
always be the same.” 


70 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION . 


CHAPTER IX. 

A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 

It was a lovely night when I set out with the merrymakers 
to the bog in search of peat. Barney was full of drollery, 
a typical Irish lad such as I had not seen in Wicklow before; 
and Moira, though at first fulfilling Winifred’s predictions 
by sitting silently with her heels kicking together where they 
hung out of the cart, and her head hanging down, after a 
while awoke to the spirit of fun and frolic that was abroad. 

“Ah, then, Danny avick, will you move on ! ” cried Barney 
to the horse. “Is it standin’ still you’d be, you Tory, and 
Miss Winifred in the cart and the strange lady from Amer- 
ica?” 

The horse seemed moved by this adjuration, as well as by 
a touch of the whip, and trotted along the shining, silent 
road. 

“ I should enjoy a run with Moira on this road ! ” said 
Winifred. 

“ Get down, then, and have your run,” I answered. 
“ Barney and I will easily keep you in sight.” 

“You will not mind if I leave you for a little while?” 
asked Winifred. 

“ No, indeed, dear. Barney and I will entertain each 
other.” 

Barney pulled up the horse. 

“ Be still, you spalpeen,” he cried, “ and let Miss Wini- 
fred down ! ” 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 


7 1 


The horse, nothing loath, stood still. 

Winifred leaped lightly to the ground, followed more 
clumsily by Moira. 

“ Ah, then, Moira,” exclaimed her brother, “ will you be 
all night gettin’ out of the cart ? ” 

Moira made no answer. Her red cheeks were aglow with 
delight at the prospect of escaping for a time from my embar- 
rassing company and having a run along the grass-bordered 
road. 

Winifred stopped a moment or two to pet the horse. 

“ Poor Danny ! ” she said. “ Barney is always calling you 
names. But you don’t mind ; do you, Danny ? ” 

The horse seemed to answer that he did not in the least, 
rubbing his nose against the child’s arm in a gratified way. 
Then Winifred gave the word, and together the two girls 
were off, their happy voices coming back to us as we drove 
leisurely along in the soft, balmy air. They stopped now and 
again to pick flowers from the hedge or to seek out daisies 
and wild violets in the fresh grass; while Barney kept up a 
series of droll remarks, — sometimes addressed to the horse, 
sometimes to me. 

“ I hear you’re thinking of taking a trip to America, Bar- 
ney/’ I remarked. 

“ True for you, ma’am — between now and Doomsday. I'm 
afeard it will be that long before I get the passage money 
together.” 

“ Why should you be so anxious to leave this beautiful 
country ? ” I said. 

“ Why ? ” exclaimed Barney, casting a shrewd glance at 
me. “ Oh, then, sure it’s meself that’s had enough of beauty 
without profit. I want to go where I’ll get paid for my work, 
and be able to hold up my head with a dacent hat upon it.” 


72 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION . 


As he spoke he took off and surveyed his own head-cover- 
ing, which was of the kind described but too accurately as 
a caubeen. I could not help laughing at the gleam of humor 
which shot out of his eyes — good eyes they were, too. 

“ Oh, you villain of the world, is it straight into the hedge 
you want to drive the lady from America? What’ll she be 
thinkin’ of you at all for an unmannerly beast ? ” 

The animal, being unable to answer these reproaches, 
shook out his mane again, and resumed his jog-trot till he 
came up with the two girls, who, out of breath from their 
exertions, were glad to jump into the cart. And so we drove 
on till we came at last to the bog. It was a strange, wild 
scene, with the moon shining over it in broad patches of 
silver, showing the green turf here and the black ground 
there, with mounds of earth arising ghost-like, and clamps 
of turf left drying for use, and the clusters of trees, frag- 
ments of old-time forests. 

We all got down from the cart, whence Barney produced 
a slane, or turf-spade. He wanted to cut and leave to dry 
a bernum of sods, and so set to work without delay. He cut 
around till the sods were of sufficient depth; then he dug 
them up, and, turning them over, he left them to dry. He 
explained to me that they had afterward to be “ footed ” — 
that is, made into parcels, — and then put into rickles, which 
are turf-sods piled upon each other to a certain height; and 
lastly into clamps, which are tall stacks. 

Moira took a turn at the spade, her face growing redder 
with the exertion. Winifred ran over to her. 

“ Let me have a turn,” she said; “ you know I like to 

dig.” 

And dig Winifred did, in spite of the protestations of 
Barney and Moira. The former said to me: 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 


73 


“ Och, then, you might as well try to stop the wind from 
whistlin’ through the trees beyant as to stop Miss Winifred 
when she’s set on anything ! ” 

He watched her with a comical look as the girl dug the 
slane into the earth, cutting with great precision and actually 
raising two or three sods. 

“ D’ye see that now ? ” cried the rustic, with a mingling 
of admiration and amusement. 

“ Oh, but you’re the wonder of the world, Miss Winifred 
asthore ! ” cried Moira. “ When it was all I could do to 
raise the sod meself ! ” 

All three then busied themselves in removing some of 
the dry turf from the clamp which Barney had previously 
erected, and in stowing it away in the cart. This done, Wini- 
fred said to me: 

“ Come ; and you too, Moira and Barney ! There’s a fairy 
ring here and we’ll dance about it in the moonlight.” 

“ The blessin’ of God between us and harm ! ” cried the 
alarmed boy and girl in a breath. “ Is it dancin’ in a fairy 
ring you’d be doin’?” 

“ Yes, there and nowhere else ! ” she said imperiously. 
“ Come ! — the lady and I are waiting for you.” 

Seeing their reluctance, I had gone forward at once, to 
show them that a fairy ring was no more to me than a patch 
of earth where the grass was softer and greener, and which 
was now whitened by the moon. And dance we did. Though 
Barney and Moira were afraid of the fairies, they were still 
more afraid of displeasing Winifred. I stopped at last, hold- 
ing my sides with merriment and begging of Winifred to let 
me rest. She threw herself, in a very spirit of mischief, on 
top of a mound. This proceeding evoked exclamations of 
horror from Moira and Barney. 


74 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 


“ To lie upon a rath ! ” groaned Moira. “ It's bewitched 
you’ll be and turnin’ into something’ before our eyes.” 

“ Or spirited away underground ! ” added Barney ; “ or 
laid under a spell that you’d ever and always be a child.” 

“ I’d like that,” remarked Winifred, settling herself more 
comfortably upon the mound. “ I don’t want to grow up 
or be old ever.” 

She gazed up at the moon, seeming to see in its far-shin- 
ing kingdom some country of perpetual youth. 

“ She’d like it ! The Lord save us ! ” cried Barney. “ It’s 
wishin’ for a fairy spell she is. Come away, Miss Winifred 
dear, — come away, if you’re a Christian at all, and not a 
fairy as some says.” 

Moira uttered an exclamation, and, darting over to Bar- 
ney, dealt him a sounding slap on the ear. 

“ How dare you talk that way to Miss Winifred ! ” she 
cried. 

“And how dare you slap Barney for repeating what fool- 
ish people say ! ” broke in Winifred. “ I’m ashamed of you, 
Moira!” 

She stood up as she spoke, confronting both the culprits. 
Barney’s face was still red from the slap, as well as from a 
sense of the enormity he had committed in repeating to Miss 
Winifred what he supposed had been kept carefully from 
her. Moira’s lip quivered at her young mistress’s reproof, 
and she seemed on the point of crying; but Winifred spoke 
with exceeding gentleness. 

“ I’m sorry I was so hasty,” she said ; “ but, you see, Bar- 
ney spoke only for my good, and you should have had patience 
with him.” 

“And I ask your pardon for the words I said,” Barney 
began, in confusion. 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 


75 


“You needn’t, Barney,” said Winifred. “You only told 
me what you hear every day.” Then, turning to me, she 
added : “ So you won’t be surprised when I do anything 
strange. For, you see, I’m only a fairy, after all; and a 
mischievous one at times.” Her face was all sparkling with 
smiles, and the very spirit of mischief looked out of her eyes. 
“ I’ll be laying spells on you to keep you here.” 

“ I may be weaving a counter one to take you away,” I 
ventured. 

She looked a little startled, but went on in the same play- 
ful tone, as she turned back again to the bewildered boy and 
girl: 

“ I’ll be enchanting the pair of you, so that you will be 
standing stock-still just where you are for a hundred years, 
staring before you.” 

At this they both took to their heels with a scream, Wini- 
fred in pursuit. 

“And I’ll turn Danny into a dragon and send him flying 
home with the turf.” 

There were muffled exclamations of terror from the flying 
pair. 

“ I think I’ll make you into a goose, Barney, with a long 
neck, thrusting yourself into everybody’s business ; and Moira 
into a pool where you can swim.” 

“ Och, och ! but the child is temptin’ Providence ! ” cried 
Moira, coming to a stand at some distance off. “ Here in 
this place of all others ; and close by the rath where the gentle- 
folks is listenin’ to every word, and she makin’ game of them 
to their faces ! ” 

“ Mebbe she is a fairy, after all ! ” muttered Barney, under 
his breath ; for he feared a repetition of Moira’s prompt chas- 
tisement. But this time indeed he was beyond the reach of 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 


76 

her arm, and Moira herself was in a less warlike mood. A 
sudden shadow, too, fell over the moon, so that we were in 
darkness. It was a cloud of intense blackness, which fell 
like a pall on the shining disc. 

“ See what comes of meddlin’ with them you know ! 
cried Barney, while even Winifred was sobered ; and the 
three crept toward the cart, Barney and Moira shivering 
with fright. Barney whipped up the unconscious horse, who 
had much relished his stay upon the bog, and was only urged 
into activity by the prospect of going home. 

“ Go now, then, Danny avick !” Barney whispered. “ It’s 
not bein’ turned into a quare beast of some kind you’d wish 
to be. Get us away from here before the good people comes 
up out of the rath; for there’s no tellin’ what they’d do 
to us.” 

“ Hear how he talks to the horse ! ” said Winifred, who 
was now seated again beside me, her curls dancing with the 
jolting of the cart. '‘As if Danny knew anything about the 
good people ! ” 

“ Oh, doesn’t he, then, Miss Winifred !” cried Barney. 
“ It’s meself has seen him all of atremble from me whisperin’ 
in his ear concernin’ them.” 

“ You just imagine it, Barney,” said Winifred. 

“And is it I imagine it ? ” exclaimed Barney, aggrieved ; 
while Moira sat in terrified silence, peering from side to side 
into the darkness as if she expected to see the avenging good 
people waiting for us along the road. We were nearly at 
the castle gate before Barney resumed anything of his former 
spirits and ventured on a joke or two. But Winifred was 
the merriest of the merry, and kept me laughing immoderately 
all along the moonlit way, as we jolted and jogged. She 
insisted that the cart wheels sang a song, and made up rhymes 


A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION. 


77 


to the musical sounds which she pretended she could hear 
so plainly. 

I often look back to that evening with peculiar pleasure. 
Winifred was at her best: most childlike, most natural, thor- 
oughly enjoying every moment of the beautiful summer night; 
so that the doubt came over me whether it was better, after 
all, to remove her from this idyllic life amongst the Irish 
hills. The sober common-sense, however, of next morning 
confirmed me in my previous opinion, and I took the first 
step toward the realization of that design by seeking an inter- 
view with the schoolmaster. 


78 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


CHAPTER X. 

A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

I set out, with Barney as my guide; but Barney had 
stoutly declared that he would go only a part of the way, as 
he did not want to trust himself anywhere in the neighbor- 
hood of the schoolhouse. 

“ Sure I went to school there for the length of a whole 
winter,” he said ; “ and the master drove the lamin’ into my 
head. He was a kind man, except when the anger rose on 
him. But I was afeard of him, and at long last I ran away 
and hid, and wouldn't go next or nigh him any more.” 

“ You were very foolish,” I remarked. “ He could have 
given you an education and prepared you to go to America, 
if such is your intention.” 

But Barney was not to be moved in his opinion, and went 
on beside me in dogged silence till we came to a turn in the 
road, where he left me, refusing to go a step further. 

“ You can’t miss the road now, ma’am,” he declared. 
“ Just push along the way you’re goin’ till you come to the 
next turn, and then you’ll have the schoolhouse foreninst 
you.” 

I thanked him and walked on in the path directed, the 
cool mountain air fanning my cheeks, which were heated by 
the walk. It was an enchanting scene, and I stopped more 
than once before reaching that turn in the road described by 
Barney. There, sheltered to some extent by an overhanging 
crag, stood the cabin of the “mad schoolmaster,” in one of 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER . 


79 


the loveliest, as it was one of the wildest, spots in all that 
beautiful region. 

I hesitated but an instant : then, stepping forward, knocked 
at the door. I opened it. after I had knocked several times 
without receiving any answer, and entered the cheerless 
schoolroom. It w as quite undisturbed, as though this remark- 
able man still expected scholars. The rude seats were there, 
the cracked slates, the table which had served as the master’s 
desk ; a map or two still hung upon the wall. A heap of ashes 
was on the hearth; above it, hanging from a hook, the iden- 
tical iron pot in which NiaB, it was said, had been seen to 
boil the stones. There was something weird in the scene, and 
I felt a chill creeping over me. It required all my common- 
sense to throw off the impression that the rustic opinion of 
the occupant of the cottage might be, after all, correct. 

As I looked around me and waited, the blue sky without 
became suddenly overclouded. I stepped to the window. A 
glorious sight met my eyes, but I knew’ that it meant noth- 
ing less than a mountain storm ; and here was I in such a 
place, at a considerable distance from home. Mass after mass 
of inky-black clouds sw ept over the mountain, driven by the 
wind, obscuring the pale blue and gold which had been so 
lately predominant. The wind, too. began to rise, blowing 
in gusts which swept over and around the cabin, but merci- 
fully left it unharmed, because of the protection afforded by 
the high rock. But it rattled the window s and whistled and 
blew, and finally brought the rain down in a fearful tor- 
rent. Flashes of lightning leaped from crag to crag, uniting 
them by one vast chain. Each was followed by a roar of 
thunder, re-echoed through the hills. 

It was an awful scene, and I trembled with an unknown 
fear, especially when I felt rather than saw that some one 


8o 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


was close behind me. I turned slowly with that fascination 
which one feels to behold a dreaded object; and there, quite 
near me indeed, stood the schoolmaster. I suppose his com- 
ing must have been unnoticed in the roar of the tempest. 
I could not otherwise account for his presence. The strange 
cloak, or outer garment, which he wore seemed perfectly dry; 
and I wondered how he could have come in from such rain 
apparently without getting wet. The smile upon his lips was 
certainly a mocking one; and as I faced him thus I felt 
afraid with the same cold, sickly fear. His eyes had in them 
a gleam which I did not like — of cunning, almost of ferocity. 

“ You have come/’ he said, without any previous saluta- 
tion, “ to pry into a mystery ; and I tell you you shall not do 
it. Rather than that you should succeed in the attempt I 
would hide you away in one of those hills, from which you 
should never escape.” 

I strove to speak, but my tongue clove to the roof of my 
mouth; and I could only gaze into those strange, gleaming 
eyes of his, from which I was afraid to remove my own. 

“You have come from America,” he said; “perhaps it 
is to get her . And that you shall never do till my plans are 
completed.” 

“To get whom? ” I faltered out. 

“ Whom?” he thundered in a terrible voice, which set me 
trembling more than ever. “You know whom. You are 
trying to win Winifred from me — the child of my heart, 
beautiful as the mountain stream, and wayward as the breeze 
that stirs its surface.” 

His face changed and softened and his very voice sunk 
to one of peculiar sweetness as he spoke of the child. But 
in an instant again he had resumed his former wildness and 
harshness of tone and demeanor. 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 81 

“ You are trying to win the child from me,” he went on ; 
“ to destroy my influence over her, to upset my plans. But 
you shall not do it — I say you shall not do it ! ” 

He glared into my face as he spoke, with an expression 
which only too closely resembled that of a wild beast. Words 
rose to my lips. I hardly knew what I said. 

“ But are you not a Christian — you are a God-fearing 
man ? ” 

It was a strange question, and he answered it with a sneer 
fearful to see. 

“God-fearing? I used to be so when I knelt, a gossoon, 
at my mother’s knee; and when, a stripling, I led the village 
choir. But so I am not now. I have only one god, and that 
is gold.” 

He brought out the words with a fearful power, as though 
he hurled them against something. His voice actually rose 
above the storm, and he threw back his head as though in 
defiance of the very heavens. 

I shuddered, but I spoke with more courage than I had 
hitherto done. 

“ If all that is true,” I said, “ surely you will see yourself 
that you are no companion for Winifred.” 

“ No companion for my little lady ? ” he repeated in sur- 
prise, with that same softening of his face and tone I had 
before remarked. “ There you are wrong. I guard her as 
the rock guards the little flower which grows in its crevice, 
as the gardener guards a cherished plant, as the miner guards 
his rarest gem. I teach her to pray, to kneel in church down 
yonder, to believe, to hope, to love; because all that is her 
shield and safeguard against the great false world into which 
she will have to go. Why, Father Owen himself has scarce 
done more for her on the score of religion. I tell her tales 


82 


A VISIT TO' THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


of the saints and holy people who sleep in the soil of Ire- 
land; but all the while I am a sinner — a black sinner — with 
but one god, whom I worship with all my might, and for 
whom I slave day and night.” 

“ You can not be what you say if you have done all that 
for Winifred,” I ventured. 

“ I am what I say ! ” he cried, turning on me with a snarl. 
“And so you shall find if you attempt to meddle with me; 
for I have a secret, and if you were to discover that — ” he 
paused — “ I believe I would kill you ! ” 

My fear was growing every instant, till I felt that I must 
faint away with the force of it; but I stammered out: 

“ I don’t want to meddle with you or to discover your 
secret; I want to find out if you are a safe companion for 
Winifred, and if you will help me in a plan I have in view.” 

“A plan ? ” he said wildly. “ I knew it was so. A plan 
to take Winifred away, to undo all my work, to thwart the 
plans which I have had in my mind for years! Beware how 
you make the attempt — beware, I tell you ! ” 

A sudden inspiration, perhaps from above, came to me, 
and I said as steadily as possible: 

“ It would be far better than making all these idle threats 
to confide in me and tell me as much or as little of your plans 
as you please. I am a stranger; I have no object in inter- 
fering in the affair, except that I am deeply interested in 
Winifred, and would do anything possible for her good. You 
love the little girl too, so there is common ground on which 
to work.” 

“ God knows I do love her ! ” he cried fervently. “And 
if I could only believe what you say ! ” 

He looked at me doubtfully — a long, searching look. 

“You may believe it,” I said, gaining confidence from 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 83 

his changed manner. Still, his eyes from under their shaggy 
brows peered into my face as he asked : 

“You never read, perhaps, of the Lagenian mines?” — 
with a look of cunning crossing his face. 

“ In the lines of the poet only,” I replied, surprised at the 
sudden change of subject and at the question. 

Niall looked at me long and steadily, and my fear of 
him began to grow less. He had the voice and speech of an 
educated man — not educated in the sense which was common 
enough with country schoolmasters in Ireland, who sometimes 
combined a really wonderful knowledge with rustic simplicity. 
And he had scarcely a trace of the accent of the country. 

“ What if I were to take a desperate chance,” he said 
suddenly, “ and tell you all, all ? I have whispered it to the 
stars, the hills, the running waters, but never before to human 
ears except those of my little lady. If you are true and hon- 
est, God deal with you accordingly. If you are not, I shall 
be the instrument of your punishment. I call the thunders 
to witness that I shall punish you if I have to walk the world 
over to do so ; if I have to follow you by mountain and moor, 
over the sea and across whole continents.” 

A terrific flash of lightning almost blinded us as he took 
this tremendous oath, which terrified me almost as much as 
though I were really planning the treachery he feared. I 
covered my eyes with my hands, while crash upon crash of 
thunder that followed nearly deafened us. Niall sat tranquil 
and unmoved. 

“ I love the voice of the storm,” he murmured presently. 
“ It is Nature at its grandest — Nature’s God commanding, 
threatening.” 

When the last echo of the thunder died away he turned 
back again to the subject of our discourse, 


8 4 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


“ If I should trust you with my secret,” he began again, 
with that same strange, wild manner which led me to believe 
that his mind was more or less unhinged, “ you will have to 
swear in presence of the great Jehovah, the God of the thun- 
der, the God of vengeance, that you will not betray it.” 

“ I can not swear,” I said firmly ; “ but I will promise sol- 
emnly to keep your secret, if you can assure me that there 
is nothing in it which would injure any one, or which I should 
be bound in conscience to declare.” 

“Oh, you have a conscience ! ” cried this singular being, 
with his evil sneer. “Well, so much the better for our bar- 
gain, especially if it is a working conscience.” 

“And you have a conscience too,” I declared, almost 
sternly ; “ though you may seek to deaden it — that Catholic 
conscience which is always sure to awaken sooner or later.” 

He laughed. 

“ I suppose I have it about me somewhere, and there will 
be enough of it any way to make me keep an oath.” He said 
this meaningly ; adding : “ So, before I begin my tale, weigh 
all the chances. If you are a traitor, go away now: leave 
Wicklow, leave Ireland, and no harm is done. But stay, 
work out your treachery, and you shall die by my hand ! ” 

I shuddered, but answered bravely: 

“ You need fear no treachery on my part — I promise that.” 

“ Then swear,” he cried, — “ swear ! ” 

“ I will not swear,” I said ; “ but I will promise.” 

“Come out with me,” he roared in that voice of his, so 
terrible when once roused to anger, “ and promise in the 
face of heaven, with the eye of God looking down upon you.” 

He seemed to tower above me like some great giant, some 
Titan of the hills ; his face dark with resolve, his eyes gleam- 
ing, his long hair streaming from under the sugar-loaf hat 


A VISIT TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


85 


down about his shoulders. He seized me by the arm and 
hurried me to the door. 

Hardly knowing what I did, I repeated after him some 
formula — a promise binding, certainly, as any oath. As I 
did- so, by one of those rare coincidences, the sun burst out 
over the hills, flooding all the valleys and resting lovingly 
upon the highest mountain peaks. 

“ The smile of God is with us,” Niall said, his own face 
transformed by a smile which softened it as the sunshine did 
the rocks. “And now I shall trust you; and if you be good 
and true, why, then, we shall work together for the dear 
little lady, and perhaps you will help me to carry out my 
plans.” 


86 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S TALE. 

“You must know/’ Niall began, “that Winifred is a 
descendant of the proud race which inhabited the castle 
wherein the child now lives. You are not, I am sure, 
acquainted with the history of her ancestors, nor shall I tell 
it. But for a thousand years they have been foremost in 
war, in minstrelsy, in beauty, in hospitality, in benefactions 
to the Church and in charity to the poor. Winifred is of 
that race and — ” he paused and drew himself up with some 
pride — “ and so am I.” 

Suddenly I uttered an exclamation of astonishment. 

“ I am the uncle of her father. This part of the story 
she has not learned ; but she does know that for years it has 
been the dream of my life to restore the old castle, to bring 
back the fallen glories of our race. I, being a younger 
brother, was debarred from the line of succession. That fact 
early stirred me into bitterness; the more so as my elder 
brother, Winifred's grandfather, was of an easy and pleasure- 
loving temperament. Far from doing anything to improve 
matters, he seemed to let everything go. I gradually with- 
drew from all intercourse with my fellow men. I dwelt alone, 
in a secluded part of the castle, and gave myself up to study. 
I desired to master the secrets of the universe, and in the 
course of my studies I learned one thing." 

He stopped and looked at me fixedly. 

“And that is the secret which I have striven so hard to 
keep and which I am about to confide to you. But let that 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


8 7 


pass for the present. My brother had an only son, and he 
was a son after my own heart. He seemed to combine in 
himself all the best qualities of our race. He was daring, 
generous, impulsive, yet steadfast and enduring. Gifted with 
great personal beauty, he had rare talents and a most win- 
ning manner. On him I built my hopes. He would in some 
way gain wealth, honor, renown. I thought I had already the 
key to the first, but I wanted him to win the others by his 
own efforts. I goaded him into action; I disgusted him with 
the life of a country gentleman which his father had led — 
and a poor and obscure one at that.” 

Niall sighed deeply as he resumed: 

“ Sometimes, after an interview with me, he would mount 
his white horse and gallop over the country, to control the 
agitation which my words had awakened in him. He went 
away at last to Dublin seeking fame. Every now and then 
he returned to tell me of his pursuits, and I urged him on 
more and more. Suddenly his interest began to slacken, and 
I saw that it had taken another direction. Next thing I heard 
he was married. His wife was a mere fine lady, though of 
a worthy stock. But I parted from Roderick in anger. We 
had a bitter quarrel. In his anger he called the old castle a 
ruin, laughed at my plans for restoring it, and declared he 
would never bring his wife there nor permit her to see its 
ruinous state. After that he went away.” 

It seemed as if Niall’s emotion would at this point pre- 
vent him from continuing the story; but he controlled him- 
self by an effort and went on. 

“ Roderick returned only once, dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, and bringing with him a child about five years old. That 
was Winifred. He left her in care of Mrs. Meehan. He 
promised to come back some day or send for his daughter, 


88 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


but he gave no clue as to his own subsequent movements. I 
myself believe he went to America. Since then I have seen 
in the child the hope of our race. She has taken her father’s 
place in my heart.” 

“ But how came she to be ignorant that you were her 
father’s uncle? Surely the neighbors, especially Mrs. Meehan, 
must have known.” 

“ The neighbors knew nothing. I had lived, as I told 
you, in retirement, and had been absent, spending many years 
in the Far East. I had ceased to attend church once youth 
had passed, and was never seen in public. I vanished out 
of the memory of all save a few old servants, who dropped 
off one by one. Mrs. Meehan may suspect something of 
the truth, but she knows nothing for a certainty.” 

I smiled, remembering the dark hints the blind woman 
had thrown out. 

“ But how, then,” I asked, did you come to be known — ” 

“As the schoolmaster ? ” he put in. “ I abandoned the 
castle for purposes of my own. I went to live in this cabin 
in the hills, and I took pupils — partly to divert attention from 
my real pursuits, partly to enable me to live.” 

I waited silently for the conclusion of the strange nar- 
rative; but he had fallen into profound thought, and sat 
staring at the floor, seeming to have forgotten my presence. 
At last he went on: 

“ Winifred, as I have said, was regarded by me as the 
hope of our race. Without revealing to her our relationship, 
I treated her with the deepest respect, in order to give her 
some idea of the importance of her position as heiress of 
an ancient house, which, though obscured for a time, is des- 
tined one day to be restored.” 

As the old man spoke thus, something of his former 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


89 


excitement returned, and he stood up, pacing the room, his 
eyes glowing and his features working convulsively. Now, 
nothing in the whole affair had more surprised me than 
the manner in which Niall had passed from a state of almost 
insane fury into the quiet courtesy of a well-bred man; so 
I waited till his excitement had once more subsided. Then 
he sat down again upon the three-cornered stool whence he 
had arisen, and continued: 

“If Roderick be still living, I shall find him one day and 
restore his child to him. But it must be through me that 
this restoration is effected ; and I must at the same time offer 
him the means of repairing the old castle and taking up again 
the life of a country gentleman/’ 

“ Have you any reason to think he is living? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, I do not know ! ” Niall answered mournfully. 
“ For many years he sent remittances and inquired for the 
child, saying that he would one day claim her. Lately both 
money and letters have ceased. A rumor reached me — I 
scarcely know how — that Roderick had married a second 
wife. Even if that be true, he must have changed indeed 
if he can forget his own child. I am haunted forever by 
the fear that he may, after all, be dead; or that, living, he 
might one day claim Winifred and take her away from Ire- 
land forever. And that I will never permit.” 

I was half afraid of another outbreak; but it did not 
come. He went on, in a calm and composed tone of voice: 

“ I must confess that when I heard you were here — ” 

“You fancied, perhaps, that I was the second wife?” I 
said, smiling. 

“ What I fancied matters little ! ” he cried, almost 
brusquely. “ But I made up my mind that if you had come 
here on such a mission, you should return disappointed.” 


90 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


“ Now, I may as well admit,” I said deliberately, “ that 
I have had thoughts of carrying Winifred away.” 

He started. 

“Not as the result of a preconcerted plan,” I hastened to 
add ; “ for I never heard of Winifred nor of the castle till 
I came here, and I could not even now tell you the name 
of her father. I have heard him spoken of merely as 
Roderick.” 

“ Roderick O’Byrne,” said Niall, fixing his keen eyes upon 
my face. 

It was my turn to start and to color violently, with the 
sudden recollection. 

“ So you do, perhaps, know Mr. Roderick O’Byrne, after 
all ? ” said the schoolmaster, dryly ; and I saw that his former 
suspicions were revived. 

“ Know him ? Why, yes. But as the father of Winifred 
— no.” 

“And where, may I ask, have you met him ? ” 

“In New York city.” 

He bent eagerly forward. 

“Tell me — oh, tell me how long ago was that?” 

“Within the last six months.” 

“ Then he is still alive ? ” 

“ He was when I sailed from New York,” I assented. 

Tears which he could not repress forced themselves from 
the old man’s eyes and flowed down his cheeks. They were 
tears of joy and relief. 

“ O Roderick ! ” he murmured ; “ dear Roderick, son of 
my heart, you are upon the green earth still, and I feared 
you had left it for evermore ! ” 

“ Moreover,” I went on, “ you are altogether wrong in 
supposing he is married again.” 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


9i 


“ What’s that you say?” he cried joyfully. “ Living and 
still a widower ? ” 

“ Living and still a widower.” 

“You are sure of that?” 

“ Quite sure.” 

Niall muttered some exclamation in Irish, the meaning 
of which I did not know; then he turned upon me with a 
beaming smile. 

“You are as the dawn that heralds a bright day, as the 
sun that peeps from out a dark cloud, as a flower thrusting 
its head through the snow ! ” 

I sat watching the schoolmaster with real gratification 
at the pleasure I had given him. Then he asked : 

“ He never spoke to you of Winifred ? ” 

“ Never.” 

“Nor of Wicklow?” 

“Nor of Wicklow.” 

“ He has forgotten Ireland ! ” cried the old man bitterly. 
“ He has become Americanized, as they all do.” 

“ On the contrary,” I observed. “ I heard him speak 
once of Ireland, and in a way I shall never forget.” 

He looked at me with sudden keenness, even suspicion; 
and I smiled. 

“ I know what you are smiling at ! ” Niall cried, with one 
of those quick flashes of intelligence which reminded me of 
Winifred. 

“ Do you ? ” I said, laughing outright. “ Well, then, I 
may as well tell you I was smiling at the suspicion I saw in 
your eyes — smiling at the contrast between my gray hairs 
and wrinkles and Roderick O’Byrne as I saw him last.” 

“ Yet Roderick is no boy,” argued Niall. “ Roderick is 
close to forty.” 


92 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


“ He has the secret of perpetual youth,” I said, warming 
at the remembrance. “Winifred has it too; she will never 
grow old. But now my heart is more than ever in your plans, 
and I should like to possess your entire confidence, — to know, 
for instance, how the wealth is to be obtained with which 
to restore the ancient castle.” 

“ That,” said Niall, impressively, “ is the secret which 
hitherto I have shared with no one save Winifred, and which 
I am about to impart to you. But remember your promise 
is as solemn, as binding as an oath.” 

“ I remember,” I said ; “ and I tell you once more that 
no word of your secret shall ever be repeated by me to any 
one without your express permission. Take my word for it.” 

Niall stood up and looked all about him, examined the 
door and the window, went outside and walked around the 
cabin, tried the chinks in the walls; and when he was quite 
convinced that no living thing was in the vicinity, he drew 
a stool near, and, laying his sugar-loaf hat upon the floor, 
began to pour into my ears a tale which seemed almost 
magical. His appearance changed, too, as he went on with 
his narrative. His eyes, alight with enthusiasm, presently 
took on an expression merely of greed. The craving for 
gold was written on every line of his face. It was so plain a 
lesson against avarice that involuntarily I shuddered. 

He tossed his hair from his forehead, while his features 
worked convulsively; and it was only when he left that part 
of the subject which related to mere gold, and rose once more 
to the plan he had in view of restoring the old castle, that 
he brightened up again. Then I saw in him one of those 
mysterious resemblances which run through a race: a like- 
ness to Roderick — gay, handsome, and comparatively young; 
a likeness to Winifred herself. 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S TALE. 


93 


I had a curious feeling of unreality as I sat there and 
listened. The old man might be Roderick O’Byrne himself 
after the passage of a score or more of years ; the cabin might 
be an enchanted spot, which would vanish away at touch 
of a wizard’s wand; and these rude chairs and tables might 
be condemned by the same strange witchery to remain for- 
ever inanimate. I had to shake myself to get rid of this feel- 
ing which crept over me, and seemed to overpower the sober 
common-sense, the practical and prosaic wisdom, which seem 
to spring from the American soil. 


94 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


T 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S SECRET. 

I had waited with breathless interest for what Niall might 
have to say ; but he put his whole secret in the opening words 
of his narrative. 

“ I am,” he began, “ a gold-seeker — a hunter for treasure- 
trove." 

“A gold-seeker ? " I repeated, amazed and incredulous ; 
though here was the explanation of many mysteries. 

“ Yes. Here, in these very mountains gold has been found 
time and time again. There were mines here scarce a hun- 
dred years ago; ’tis said that ten thousand pounds' worth 
of gold was dug up in two months. Ten thousand pounds! 
Think of it!" 

Niall stopped, full of a suppressed emotion, which threat- 
ened, I thought, to shake his strong frame to pieces. 

“ The old minstrels sang of the gold — the yellow gold, 
the red gold; and, touching the strings of their harps, the 
bards told the kings of other days of treasure that had been 
buried — vases, ornaments, trinkets of all sorts — " 

“ But tell me," I interrupted, “ have you found any of 
these things ? " 

“ I have found these treasures time and again. Some of 
them are now in the British Museum, and the money for 
them in my cave at the Phoul-a-Phooka with the other valu- 
ables, save those which I gave to my little lady. My store- 
house is in the loneliest spot, where the timorous dare not 
venture, where the wild horse of the legend keeps guard for 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


95 


me. Once I brought my little lady there, and her eyes were 
so dazzled she covered them with her hands.” 

I listened as in a dream. 

“ But gold ? ” I asked, in an awe-stricken voice. “ Have 
you found — ” 

“ About a hundred ounces,” he replied, “ of genuine pure 
gold. But what is a hundred ounces where tons, perhaps, lie 
buried?” 

He sprang up and paced the room, a fever, almost of 
insanity, glowing on his cheeks and in his eyes. I watched 
with a new interest this man, who was making the hills and 
streams of his loved Ireland yield up this treasure. 

“ It seems like a fairy-tale,” I said. 

“ It is not fairy gold,” Niall cried, with a grim smile ; 
“ and it has cost me years of slavery. I have guarded the 
secret with my life. I have spent long, lonely years in this 
cheerless cabin, haunting the streams by night, washing and 
rewashing the precious clay in the chill dawn, testing the 
gold in the fire of yonder hearth, often when the rest of 
the world was sleeping. Gold has been my idol, my one devo- 
tion.” 

“ Do you get the gold in large pieces ? ” 

“ In every size, from the tiniest sparkle worth about six- 
pence to a lump worth several shillings.” 

“ It is wonderful, wonderful ! ” I could only repeat. 

“ My studies in the East helped me much in my work,” 
Niall observed ; “ but indeed for years past the study of 
precious metals, and how to procure them, has been the one 
object of my life.” 

“ Even should your secret come to light,” I ventured to 
say, “ surely there is enough for every one in the bowels of 
the earth.” 


96 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


“There may be,” Niall cried wildly — “oh, there may be; 
but no one must know of it till I have got my portion ! 
Besides, as all gold-seekers know, the gold is as uncertain 
as a fickle woman. Sometimes in a stream there is but a 
little, or there will be much in one portion of the river’s bed 
and none at all in the other.” 

“ Did Roderick know ? ” I asked. 

“ Never. I was but beginning my search when he went 
away. I would not have told him in any case. He would 
have wanted to share our good fortune with every one.” 

“ Winifred knows ? ” 

“ Yes, she knows. I could trust her with my secret.” 

He fell into deep abstraction; and I, watching him, could 
scarcely realize that this quiet, thoughtful man was the same 
wild being who had terrified me during the storm. It 
showed me the fearful power of gold over the human heart, 
and how it was capable of changing an ordinary gentleman 
of studious habits into the semblance of a wild beast. He 
roused himself all at once to say: 

“You spoke of some plan of yours for the child?” 

“ My plan for Winifred,” I said boldly, though with 
some inward fear, “ was to take her away with me to America, 
and put her at a convent school, where she should be edu- 
cated as befits her station in life.” 

His face grew dark as I spoke, and he flashed upon me 
one of his old suspicious glances. 

“ You wanted to take her to America ! How am I to 
know that you are not, after all, an agent sent by Roderick 
or by some of the mother’s people ? ” 

“ You have only my word for it,” I said, slightly draw- 
ing myself up. “ I can offer no other proof.” 

“ I suppose it is all right,” he replied, with another keen 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


97 


look and a deep sigh ; “if not, then has misfortune indeed 
overtaken me.” 

This was said as if to himself; and presently, raising his 
voice, he asked: 

“ Pray what do they teach at these convent schools ? ” 

“ They teach their pupils to be Christian ladies,” I 
answered warmly. 

He was silent again for a moment or two, then he went on : 

“ I have grounded her in all her studies, and if she con- 
tinues with me she will be thoroughly well instructed in 
many branches. But there are some things I can not teach 
her. I know that all too well.” 

“And those are precisely what the child would learn at a 
convent school,” I put in eagerly. 

“ Think for a moment,” he exclaimed vehemently, “ what 
such a parting would mean to me ! I am old. I might never 
see her again. Even if I can rely on your good faith once 
you are out of my sight, I will forever stand in fear of some 
evil befalling her, some mischance which would upset all 
my plans.” 

“ I thought you intended to take her to America your- 
self?” I said. 

“ Yes ; to find her father, and to persuade him to come 
back with us to his native land.” 

“ But he might refuse.” 

“ That would be unlikely, unless he was married again. 
In that case, I would bring Winifred back to be lady of the 
castle.” 

I sat thoughtful, musing over this plan, which seemed 
like a dream of romance. But Niall’s voice broke in on my 
musings : 

“ Should I let the child go with you, it is on condition that 


98 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


she does not see Roderick until I give my consent ; and should 
I want her back here in the meantime, she must come.” 

“ She is not to see her father ? ” 

“ No, no! She must go direct to the school, and Roderick 
must not know of her presence there.” 

“ It seems hard ! ” I murmured. 

“Hard! But does he deserve better?” said Niall. “For 
whatever cause, he has left Winifred to my care and that of 
Mrs. Meehan all these years.” 

“That is true,” I responded ; “and I accept the conditions.” 

“ It will be the saddest moment of my life when I see my 
little lady depart,” Niall exclaimed; and already his face was 
drawn and haggard and his voice husky at the prospect. “ But 
should my dream be realized, she will acquire the manner, 
the accomplishments, the graces which our Wicklow hills 
can not furnish. You are right; she must go.” 

I was at once touched and astonished at his ready com- 
pliance with my wishes. I had feared it might be a tedious 
task to overcome his objections. But the clear mind of the 
man had at once perceived the advantages of my plan. 

“ You see, I am putting entire trust in you. I am con- 
fiding Winifred to you. I have already told you my secret.” 

“ You shall never have cause to regret either,” I cried 
warmly. “And as for the conditions, they shall be put down 
in writing, and Winifred shall be restored to you when and 
where you desire.” 

“ What will these hills be like without her ! ” he exclaimed, 
rising and going to the window. 

There was again that wildness in tone and manner as of 
a mind which had become somewhat unsettled by the strange, 
wandering life he had led, with its fever of suspense and 
excitement. 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


99 


“ What will the greensward be like, child of my heart, 
when your foot no more shall press it? What will the hills 
be like when your eyes — asthore machree! — shall not look 
upon them? And the Glen of the Dargle shall have lost its 
charm when you are not there, its spirit ! ” 

He tossed his arms above his head and rushed wildly from 
the cabin. I waited for a time; but as he did not return, I 
slowly followed the homeward path, content with what I had 
accomplished for one day, but wondering much at the strange 
revelations which Niall had made. 

Before I reached home I suddenly met Winifred. Her 
face was clouded, and at first she scarcely noticed me. 

“ What is the matter with Niall ? ” she asked. “ I met 
him and he would not look at me. I called his name, but 
he ran away and would not speak.” 

“ He will tell you all in good time,” I answered soothingly. 

“ It is you ! ” she said, looking at me keenly, with a glance 
like that of her kinsman. “ You have been vexing him : say- 
ing something that he did not like.” 

“We must all have things said to us that we do not like, 
when it is for our good,” I remarked gravely. 

“ I wish you had never come here ! I wish you would 
go away ! ” Winifred exclaimed, stamping her little foot till 
it stuck in the soft earth. 

“ See, how useless is ill-temper ! ” I said ; for I was rather 
annoyed by her petulance. “ You have spoiled your pretty 
shoe. And as for going away, when I go, you will go 
too.” 

She turned pale, then trembled and stammered out a ques- 
tion or two: 

“ I — go — with you ? Where ? ” 

“All the way to America.” 

L OFC. 


100 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


“ To America ! ” said Winifred, in an amazement which 
seemed blended with fear or emotion of some sort. 

“ Yes ; over the great sea/’ I went on, “ where you will 
see many new and beautiful things.” 

“ But I don’t want to see them ! ” she replied, with an 
energy that startled me. 

“ That is not a nice way to put it, dear,” I said gently. 
“ I hope, indeed, you will be a very good girl and give me 
as little trouble as possible. You will have to leave your wil- 
ful ways in the mountains with the sprites.” 

“ Niall will never allow it!” she cried, with childish 
triumph. 

“ Niall has just said ‘ Yes/ So I give you a month to 
prepare,” I declared firmly. I had determined to exert my 
authority from that moment forward, as it was necessary 
that I should. 

“Niall has said ‘Yes’!” she repeated, drawing a sharp 
breath and speaking as one in a dream. Her lip quivered ; two 
tears shone in her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Turn- 
ing on me instead, with a curious tone of command, she asked : 

“Who are you?” 

“A friend.” 

“An enemy, I think ! ” said Winifred, and with that she 
turned sharply away and was soon hidden in the brushwood. 
But I heard her only a few moments afterward, sobbing aloud 
and calling, as Niall had done, on Nature: 

“ I can’t leave the hills and the streams and the valleys ! 

I can’t leave Wicklow and the Dargle and the castle, and 
dear Granny and Moira and Barney and Niall ! Oh, it would 
break my heart ! ” 

She sobbed again for a few moments; then her voice rang 
out defiantly: 


THE SCHOOLMASTER’S SECRET. 


IOI 


“ I will not go ! I will hide in the hills, as the O’Byrnes 
did in the wars. I will live in a cave like them and not go 
to that hateful America.” 

I went back to the inn, resolving to try to win the child 
over to my ideas as I had done her uncle. I foresaw many 
difficulties in the way ; and as I sat down on the wooden bench 
outside the door I began to wonder if my idea was, after 
all, a mistaken one. The air was very fresh and pure after 
the storm ; the verdure of that Emerald Isle, so fondly remem- 
bered by its exiled sons and daughters, was rich and glowing 
after the rain ; and the hills were shrouded in a golden haze, 
darkening into purple near the summit. I sat and listened 
to a thrush singing in the lilac bush near which I had seen 
Winifred sitting on the morning of our visit to the castle, 
till a strange peace stole over me and I lost all my fears. 


102 


TWO VISITS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TWO VISITS. 

My next duty was to obtain Granny Meehan’s consent to 
Winifred’s departure for America. I found her sitting beside 
the hearth in her accustomed place, with the cat at her feet. 
Winifred was absent, and in the outer court was the pleasant 
sunshine falling over solitude. Only the fowls, so variously 
named by Winifred, disported themselves before the window. 

Mrs. Meehan greeted me cheerfully and cordially, and I 
saw that no shadow of future events had fallen upon her yet. 
Our conversation at first was on the usual topics — the fine 
weather, the prospect of good crops. Then, as it were of a 
sudden, I remarked: 

“ Well, Mrs. Meehan, I have seen the schoolmaster.” 

Granny started, and stared at me in silence for a few 
moments. 

“ Where, then, ma’am dear ? ” she asked uneasily. 

“ In his own house.” 

“ In the cabin up beyant there ? ” she cried in amazement. 
“ Tell me was it up there ? ” 

“Yes, in the cabin amongst the hills, on the day of the 
storm,” I answered very calmly. 

“The Lord be good to us, ma’am! And what took you 
to that fearsome place — in such weather, too? Couldn’t you 
have got shelter anywhere else ? ” 


TWO VISITS. 


103 


She was quite pale at the thought. 

“ I went purposely, Mrs. Meehan ; for I had made up 
my mind to ask him for Winifred.” 

“ To ask him for Winifred ! ” she echoed in astonishment. 
Then her manner showed something of offence. “ It was in 
my charge the colleen was left,” she declared; “and ’tis I, 
and not Niall of the hill, that has the say about her.” 

“ But I was sure of your consent already,” said I, quietly. 

“And what made you sure of it, axin’ your pardon for 
the question ? ” 

“ Your intelligence, your love for the girl, and your fear 
of Niall’s influence, over her.” 

She seemed mollified, and I went on: 

“ Your intelligence will show you it is for the best, your 
love for Winifred will make you wish the best for her, while 
your fear of Niall — ” 

“ Speak lower, ma’am : he may be in hearin’ ! ” she said 
anxiously. “ He’s that strange he does be appearin’ when 
least you expect.” 

“ Well, in any case, I knew you would not oppose her 
going with me to America.” 

“To America, is it?” cried the woman, bristling up as 
fiercely almost as Niall himself. “ Oh, then, how am I to 
know that you’re playin’ me no tricks — that you haven’t been 
sent to take her away from us ? ” 

“ Mrs. Meehan,” I said gravely, “ I gave you my word 
as a lady that I knew nothing of her till I came here.” 

“ I ax your pardon ! ” she said humbly. “ But, O ma’am 
dear, think of America, over the big ocean, and me sittin’ here 
alone among the hills, powerless to go to her if she needs 
me!” 

“ She will be taken good care of,” I said. “ I shall put 


104 


TWO VISITS. 


her in a convent, where she will be thoroughly educated and 
prepared for the part she has to play in life.” 

“ And will she be goin’ away from the old land forever ? ” 
she asked, clasping her feeble hand over her heart. 

“ By no means. It is my hope and wish that she come 
back here.” 

“ But him you call the schoolmaster will never allow it ! ” 
she cried, with something of the same triumph which had ap- 
peared in Winifred’s face. 

“ The schoolmaster has already given his consent,” I said 
quietly. 

“ Given his consent ! ” repeated the old woman, flushing 
and paling; and then a great wonder seemed to overcome 
every other feeling. “ You saw him in the cabin ’mongst the 
hills and you got his consent ! But weren’t you afeared, ma’am, 
to go there by yourself ? ” 

“ I was somewhat afraid at first,” I admitted ; “ but I felt 
that for the child’s sake it had to be done.” 

“And you’ll take her away from me ? ” the old woman 
cried piteously. “ How can you, ma’am ? ” 

“ Don’t you see yourself how much the best thing it is for 
her?” I urged. “You are afraid of Niall’s influence over 
her; she can not grow up as she is, roaming the hills, with 
no companions of her own age or rank.” 

She was silent a long time, and I thought she was praying. 

“You are right, ma’am dear,” she said tranquilly; “it is 
for the best, and it seems to be God’s holy will. But when 
must it be ? ” 

“ We shall sail from here in August, I think,” I answered. 
“And then I can place her in a convent near New York for 
the opening term of the school year. If she stays there even 
two or three years, it will make a great difference. And then 


TWO VISITS. 


105 

she will come back to take her place at the castle, if it can 
be made habitable; or, at all events, in the neighborhood.” 

“ But Miss Winifred’s father is in the United States of 
America ? ” said the old woman, tremulously. 

“ Yes : he is in New York. I know him and have spoken 
to him.” 

The old woman’s face flushed with a joyful, eager flush. 

“You know my boy, the pulse of my heart — Roderick?” 

“Yes,” I answered. “I know him, I may say, well.” 

A look of trouble suddenly replaced the brightness of 
Granny Meehan’s face. 

“Then know too that if Roderick sets his eyes on Miss 
Winifred, we’ll never see her more here in the old land.” 

There was something indescribably mournful in her tone. 

“ Himself will take her,” she went on ; “ and who can 
say that his new wife will give her a mother’s love or a 
mother’s care ? ” 

“ He has no new wife ! ” I said — “no wife at all ; and 
perhaps, among us, we can win him back to the old world — 
to Ireland, to Wicklow.” 

“ Say that again, asthore machree ! ” cried the old woman, 
— “ that he has no wife at all. Oh, then, sure there’s hope for 
him cornin’ back ! ” 

“ Niall has made it a condition of his consent to Winifred’s 
going,” I observed, “ that Roderick shall not see his child 
nor know of her presence in New York till the old man gives 
the signal.” 

“ The old rap ! ” cried Granny, with sudden ire. “ ’Tis 
like him, the marplot, the — but the Lord forgive me what I’m 
sayin’ ! And hasn’t he been a father to the little one, with all 
his queer ways and his strayin’ about the hills when others 
were in their beds ? ” 


io6 


TWO VISITS. 


“ He is altogether devoted to her, ,, I said ; “ and has a 
right to make what request he pleases.” 

“ True for you, ma’am — true for you,” said Granny. “And 
my old heart’s so full with all you’ve told me that it seems 
as if the world was turned the wrong way round. Oh, what 
a desolate spot this will be when Miss Winifred’s gone out 
of it!” 

“ Only for a time; and then, if all goes as we hope, think 
what happiness is in store for every one ! ” 

“ I’ll try to think of it, ma’am, — indeed and I will,” said 
Granny. “And, sittin’ here in the dark alone, I’ll be prayin’, 
mornin’, noon and night, that all may turn for the best.” 

“ Your prayers will help more than anything else can,” 
I declared ; “ be sure of that, and keep up your heart. But 
now I think I’ll call upon the priest — Father Owen, I be- 
lieve ? ” 

“Yes: Father Owen Farley.” 

“ Very well. I shall see him and tell him all about the 
matter. He may be a help to us, too.” 

I bade the old woman good-morning and went on my way, 
feeling that I had quite overcome the opposition of those 
interested in the girl. I had only to fear now some wilfulness 
on the part of Winifred herself, and I counted on Father 
Owen to help me in that direction. I had already discovered 
that she had a strong, lively faith, the robust piety so com- 
mon among the children of Ireland, and the respect for priests 
which seems to come by instinct. I had heard her speak of 
Father Owen with a reverence beautiful to see in one so 
young. 

As I went on my way to the chapel, the sun, which had 
been under a cloud, suddenly burst out from a sky of tender, 
dappled gray. There was a smell of the woods in the air, 


TWO VISITS. 


io 7 


which a morning shower had brought forth; and a robin 
was singing as I approached Father Owen’s residence. The 
songster sat on the bough of a tree, his red breast swelling 
with the melody he sent forth. His bright eye catching sight 
of me caused him to trill out more bravely than ever, as if 
to say : “ See how this little Irish robin can sing ! Did you 
ever hear a finer song than that ? ” 

I think it was at the same thought Father Owen was 
laughing as I drew near. He stood in his little garden, a 
fine, venerable figure, with snow-white hair, worn rather long 
on his neck. He was about the medium height, thin to 
emaciation, with wonderfully bright eyes and the smile of a 
child. He turned at my approach. I introduced myself. 

“ You will know me best, Father,” I observed, “ as the 
lady from America.” 

“The lady from America?” he said. “I’m glad to meet 
you. Of course I’ve seen you in church and at the holy 
table. This is a real pleasure, though. Come into my little 
house now, and let me hear something of your wonderful 
country beyond the sea.” 

I followed, charmed with his courtesy. 

“ I was listening to that rogue of a robin,” he said, as he 
led me in ; “ and I think he knew very well he had an auditor. 
Birds, I suppose, have their vanity, like the rest of us.” 

“ The same thought occurred to me, Father,” I answered. 
“ He did swell out his little throat so, and sent his eye wan- 
dering about in search of applause.” 

“ There’s a deal of human nature in birds,” said the priest, 
laughing at the quaint conceit ; “ and in the lower animals 
as well — every cat and dog among them.” 

We chatted on from one subject to another, till at last I 
introduced that which had brought me. 


io8 


TWO VISITS. 


“ Father,” I began, “ I want to talk to you specially about 
Winifred, the orphan of the castle.” 

“ Winifred ! ” he said, his face lighting up. “A lovable, 
charming child, but a bit wayward ; pure and bright in spirit 
as yonder mountain stream, but just as little to be re- 
strained.” 

“ I thought I would like to hear your opinion of a plan 
I have formed with regard to her.” 

He bowed his head, with an inimitable courtesy in the 
gesture, as if to signify his willingness to hear, and fixed his 
dark eyes upon me. 

“ My idea is to take her to America and place her for a 
few years in a convent.” 

“America,” he said thoughtfully, “is very far off; and 
if she has to live in Ireland, might it not be better to select 
a convent nearer home ? ” 

Then I went more into details: told him of Roderick and 
of the possibility of bringing father and child together. His 
opposition — if opposition it could be called — vanished at 
once, and he cordially entered into the idea.- 

“ Granny Meehan will certainly consent if we all think it 
best for the child,” he said ; “ but what of that extraordinary 
being in the mountains up yonder? What of Niall?” 

“ He has consented.” 

“ You amaze me ! ” cried the priest, holding up both hands 
in astonishment. “ Surely it takes you Americans to ac- 
complish anything.” Then he added after a pause : “ Did he 
mention his relationship to Winifred, which is a secret from 
all about here?” 

“ He did.” 

“ He is a most singular character — a noble one, warped 
by circumstances,” continued the priest, thoughtfully. “A 


TWO VISITS. 


109 


visionary, a dreamer. Poor Niall! he was a fine lad when 
I knew him first.” 

“You knew him when he was young, then?” I inquired. 

“ Yes, I knew him well. An ardent, enthusiastic boy, 
brave and hopeful and devout. Now — but we need not dis- 
cuss that. It is as well, perhaps, that the child should be with- 
drawn from his influence before she is older; though, mind 
you, his influence over her has hitherto been for the best.” 

“ So I have every reason to think,” I assented ; “ but, as 
you say, Father, growing older, the girl will require different 
surroundings.” 

After that we talked over our plans for the best part of 
an hour; and the old priest showed me his simple treasures 
— a crucifix of rarest ivory, so exquisitely carved that I could 
not refrain from expressing my admiration again and again. 
This, with a picture or two of rare merit, had come from 
Rome; and reminded Father Owen, as he said, of seminary 
days, of walks on the Campagna in the wonderful glow of 
an Italian sunset, of visits to churches and art galleries. He 
showed me, too, his books. 

“ They have supplied to me,” he observed, “ the place of 
companionship and of travel. I can travel in their pages 
around the civilized world; and I love them as so many old 
friends. In the long nights of winter I have sat here, listen- 
ing to the mountain storm while I read, or the streams rush- 
ing upon their way when the frost set them free.” 

As he talked thus there was the sound of hasty, rushing 
feet in the hall, and Winifred burst into the room. 


no 


HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 

She threw upon the table an immense mass of bloom she 
had gathered on the banks of the Dargle; then rushed over 
to her beloved Father Owen, crying: 

“O Father Owen, Father Owen! she wants to take me 
away with her to America, and it will break my heart — I 
know it will ! ” 

The tears streamed down her cheeks, and she never noticed 
me in this wild outburst of grief. 

“ My child, my child,” said Father Owen, “ do you hear 
that robin singing outside there? And you, to whom God 
has given reason, are crying! The little robin sings in the 
sunshine and is calm in the storm.” 

“ I can’t help it, Father — I can’t help it ! The robin has 
no heart, but just feathers over his little bones.” 

Father Owen laughed, and even the girl smiled through 
her tears. 

“ Let me see sunshine again on your face,” the priest said, 
“ and hear the song on your lips. If you are going to 
America . there’s no misfortune in that — is there ? ” 

“No misfortune to leave everything I love and go away 
with a stranger?” 

“ Not so great a stranger, Winifred,” I ventured, re- 
proachfully. “ I thought we were to be friends.” 

The girl started at sound of my voice and blushed rosy red. 


HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 


ir 


“ I didn't know you were here ! ” she muttered confusedly. 

“ Well, it doesn’t matter, my dear,” I replied. “ You have 
shown nothing more than natural feeling at the prospect of 
parting with the scenes and friends of your childhood. But 
I want to tell you now in presence of Father Farley that you 
are free to stay or go. I shall not force you to accompany 
me; for perhaps, after all, you will be happier here than 
there.” 

“Ah, happiness is not the only object of a life!” Father 
Owen said quickly. “ Why, even that little bird yonder has 
to give up his songs in the sunshine sometimes and go to 
work. He has to build his nest as a shelter for his family, 
and he has to find them food.” 

He paused, looking out of the window at the little work- 
man gaily hopping about as if making repairs in his dwelling, 
and thus pointing the moral and adorning the tale. When 
the priest turned round again to look at Winifred, her face 
was pale but composed, and her tears were dried on the 
delicate kerchief she drew from the folds of her cloak. 

“To my mind it seems clear,” said the priest, “ that this 
lady’s presence here just now is providential; and that her 
offer to take you to America is most kind, as it is most ad- 
vantageous.” 

Winifred threw at me a glance which was neither so 
grateful nor so friendly as it might have been ; but she looked 
so charming, her eyes still misty with tears and her curls 
falling mutinously about her face, that I forgave her on the 
spot. 

“And yet I came here to tell you, Father Owen, that I 
wouldn’t go ! ” she cried impetuously. 

“Oh, did you ? ” said Father Owen. “ Then you came 
here also to be told that you must go.” 


1 12 


HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 


“Must!” I echoed. “Oh, no, Father — not that!” 

“ That and nothing else,” insisted the priest. “ I shall be 
sorry indeed to part from my Winifred ” — his brown eyes 
rested on her with infinite kindliness. “ I taught her her 
catechism; I prepared her for her first confession and holy 
communion, and to be confirmed by the bishop. I have seen 
her grow up like the flowers on yonder rocks. But she is 
not a flower: she has a human soul, and she has a destiny 
to fulfil here in this world. Therefore, when an offer is 
made to her which will give her every advantage that she 
now lacks, what are my feelings or Niall’s or Granny’s or 
hers?” 

Winifred’s eyes sought the floor in some confusion, and 
with a hint of new tears darkening them ; for her old friend’s 
words had touched her. 

“ She thinks, I suppose,” he went on, “ that because I am 
a priest I have no heart like the robin out yonder. Why, 
there is none of the little ones that I teach that do not creep 
into my heart and never get out, even when they come to be 
big stalwart men or women grown. But I put my feelings 
aside and say, ‘ What is best must be done.’ And,” con- 
tinued the priest, “ look at Granny ! She will be left desolate 
in her blindness, and yet she bids you go. Poor daft Niall, 
too, will be a wanderer lonelier than ever without his little 
companion ; but does he complain ? ” 

“O Father Owen,” cried Winifred, “I’ll do whatever you 
say! You know I never disobeyed you in my life.” 

“ That’s a good child, now ! ” said the priest. “And I 
hope I wasn’t too cross. Go to my Breviary there and you 
will find a pretty, bright picture. And here I have — bless me ! 
— some sugar-plums. The ladies from Powerscourt brought 
them from Dublin and gave them to me for my little friend.” 


HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 


ii 3 

Winifred flew to the Breviary and with a joyful cry 
brought out a lovely picture of the Sacred Heart. The sugar- 
plums, however, seemed to choke her, and she put them in 
her pocket silently. 

“ When will you start for America ? ” asked the priest. 

“ The first week of August, perhaps,’' I answered ; “ so 
that Winifred may be in time for the opening of school.” 

“ Well, then,” said Father Owen, “ it will be time enough 
to begin to cry on the 31st of July, Winifred my child; and 
you have a whole month before then.” 

Winifred brightened visibly at this ; for a month is very 
long to a child. 

“Meantime you will take your kind friend here, this good 
lady, to see the sights. She must know Wicklow well, at 
any rate; so that you can talk about it away over there in 
America. I wish I were going myself to see all the fine 
churches and schools and institutions that they tell me are 
there.” 

“You have never been in America, Father?” I inquired. 

“ Nor ever will, I’m afraid. My old bones are too stiff 
for traveling.” 

“ They’re not too stiff, though, to climb the mountain in 
all weathers,” I put in. For the landlord had told me how 
Father Owen, in the stormiest nights of winter and at any 
hour, would set out, staff in hand. He would climb almost 
inaccessible heights, where a few straggling families had their 
cabins, to administer the sick or give consolation in the houses 
of death. 

“And why wouldn’t I climb ? ” he inquired. “ Like my 
friend the robin, I have my work to do ; and the worse for 
me if some of my flock are perched high up. ’Tis the worse 
ff>r them, too.” 


HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 


114 

I could not but laugh at the drollery of his expression. 

“ My purse is none of the longest either,” he said, “ and 
wouldn’t reach near as far as America; and, besides, I’m 
better at home where my duty is.” 

This quaint, simple man of God attracted me powerfully, 
and I could not wonder at the hold he had upon his parish- 
ioners. 

“ Some of my poor people,” he went on, “ have no other 
friend than the soggarth ; and if he went away what would 
they do at all? Winifred my pet, there’s one of the geese 
just got into the garden. Go and chase it away; and I 
needn’t tell you not to throw stones nor hurt it, as the boys do.” 

Winifred went off delightedly, and we saw her, with merry 
peals of laughter, pursuing the obstinate creature round and 
round the garden. No sooner did she put it out at the gate 
than it came in at a chink in the wall. 

“ Weary on it for a goosie ! ” said the priest ; “ though, 
like the rest of the world, it goes where it will do best for 
itself. But I want to tell you, my dear lady, while the child’s 
away, how glad I am that she is going with you and to a 
convent. It was God sent you here. The finger of God is 
tracing out her way, and I’m sure His blessing will rest upon 
you for your share in the work.” 

At this moment Winifred, breathless from her chase, 
entered the room. 

“Arrange your posy now, and take it over yourself to the 
church,” said Father Owen; “and maybe I’ll come over 
there by and by to play you something on the organ.” 

For it was one of Winifred’s greatest pleasures to sit in 
the dim little chapel and listen to the strains of the small 
organ, which Father Owen touched with a master-hand. So 
the child, arranging the flowers — primroses chiefly, with their 


HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 


i5 


pale gold contrasting with the green of the leaves — prepared 
to set out. I, taking leave of the priest, accompanied her, and 
sat down in a pew while Winifred went into the sacristy for 
a vase. She came out again and put the flowers at the foot 
of the Blessed Virgin’s altar; then she knelt down just under 
the sanctuary lamp, and I saw her childish face working with 
c he intensity of her prayer. 

Presently we heard Father Owen coming in with Barney, 
who was to blow the organ for him. The brightness of the 
day was giving place to the shadows of the afternoon, and the 
colors were fading gradually from the stained windows. Only 
the light of the sanctuary lamp gleamed out in the dusk. 
The priest touched the keys lightly at first; then he began 
to play, with exquisite finish, some of the simple hymns to 
the Blessed Virgin which we had known since our childhood. 
“ Hail Virgin, dearest Mary, our lovely Queen of May ! ” 
‘‘On this day, O beautiful Mother ! ” “Oh$ blest fore’er the 
Mother and Virgin full of grace,” followed each other in 
quick succession. He passed from these to “ Gentle Star of 
Ocean ! ” and finally to “ Lead, Kindly Light.” 

The notes fell true and pure with a wonderful force and 
sweetness, which produced a singular effect. It seemed as 
if every word were being spoken direct to the soul. I felt 
as if I could have .stayed there forever listening; and I was 
struck with the expression of Winifred’s face as she came 
away from the altar, advancing toward me through the gloom. 
Her face, upturned to the altar, was aglow with the bright- 
ness of the sanctuary lamp. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered. 

I assented, and I saw that peace was made between us ; 
for there was the old friendliness in look and tone. But I 
said, to make assurance doubly sure; 


n6 HOW FATHER OWEN WON THE DAY. 

“ This is a good place to forgive me, dear, and to think 
over my plan in its true light.” 

“You shall forgive me! I ought to have been glad and 
grateful,” Winifred answered quite humbly. 

There was a great sadness in her voice, however; for 
the sorrows of childhood are very real and very deep, though 
they do not last. 

“ Father Owen plays every trouble away into peace,” I 
observed. 

“ Yes,” Winifred replied dreamily. 

Then we heard Father Owen coming down from the loft, 
and we stepped outside, thinking to meet him there and thank 
him for his music. But instead he went directly into the 
church, and I returned thither to wait for his coming. I 
could just discern his figure kneeling on the altar-step, the 
altar-lamp forming a halo about his venerable head; and I 
heard his voice repeating over and over again, in accents of 
intense fervor: “ My Jesus, mercy ! My Jesus, mercy ! ” No 
other prayer only that. 

I stole away, more impressed than I had ever been, out 
into the lovely summer twilight. Winifred’s hand was locked 
in mine as we went. 

“ I hope,” I said before we parted, “ that you will soon 
be very happy over my project — or, at least, very brave.” 

“ I shall try to be very brave,” she answered ; “ and then 
perhaps Fll be happy. Father Owen says so, anyway.” 

“ He is a wise man and a saint,” I answered. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” she assented, with pretty enthusiasm. “ He 
is just like St. Patrick himself.” 

After that she accepted the situation cheerfully, and I 
never again heard her protest against going to America. 
Father Owen had won the day. 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


ii 7 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

The time fixed for *our departure was drawing all too 
near; for the summer had been a delightful one, with much 
of fine weather and almost constant sunshine — rare in that 
land where Nature’s tear is always very near her smile. I 
had visited the Devil’s Glen, with its wondrous falls, its turb- 
ulent streams, its mountain heights, reached by a path of 
tangled bloom. I had seen the “ sweet Vale of Avoca ” and 
Avonmore, and Glendalough, with its seven ruined churches ; 
and St. Kevin’s Bed, and all the other delights of Wicklow, 
the garden of Ireland. 

On most of these expeditions I had been accompanied by 
Winifred, with Barney and Moira. If we were driving, 
Barney acted as driver and guide at once; if we were on 
foot, he carried the luncheon basket. Very often we set out 
when the dew was still on the grass and the morning-star 
had scarcely faded from the sky. 

But there was one more spot to be visited, and this time 
Barney and Moira were not to be of the party. Winifred had 
persuaded Niall to take us to the Phoul-a-Phooka, and show 
us there a mysterious cavern in which he kept hidden his 
treasures. I looked forward to this visit with a curious blend- 
ing of fear and curiosity. Niall was so variable in his moods, 
and Father Owen agreed with me in thinking that at times 
his mind was unsettled and his temper dangerous. Still, I 
determined to take the risk. 


n8 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. . 


One warm day in July Winifred and I set out in company 
with Niall — not, indeed, that he gave us much of his society. 
When we were in the car he drove in gloomy silence'; when 
we were afoot he walked on ahead, wrapped in his cloak, with 
an air of gloomy preoccupation, his sugar-loaf hat serving 
as a sign-post which we were to follow. 

When we came up at last to this celebrated spot, my breath 
was fairly taken away by its wild and mournful grandeur. 
Waterfall after waterfall came down from a height of two 
hundred feet, over great, rocky precipices, being spanned by 
a single arched bridge of Gothic design. On one side of the 
falls are tasteful grounds, with shaded walks and seats for 
the convenience of visitors; on the other, all is wild and 
barren — rock rising above rock, crag above crag, in a morose 
solitude. 

It was toward this solitude that Niall led us, the noise of 
the waterfalls completely drowning our voices. We strode 
on by devious paths, turning more and more away from the 
water and upward by a steep ascent, till we found ourselves 
in surroundings shunned by the common folk, and wild, 
gloomy and forbidding enough to justify all that popular 
superstition said of this region. Once we paused to take 
breath, and I looked down from an eminence on the waters 
rushing madly to the tranquil glen below ; and then I turned 
my gaze from the Gothic bridge, the work of man, to the 
mountain crag, the work of the Creator. 

Suddenly Niall turned an abrupt angle, Winifred and I 
creeping after him. I was full of fear; but Winifred was 
fearless and smiling, holding my hand and encouraging me 
as though I had been a child. We stopped before a tangled 
mass of vines and brushwood. Niall pushed them aside, dis- 
closing a small, dark entrance in the rocks, through which he 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


m 


passed, signing for us to follow him. This we did, Winifred 
whispering : 

“ It’s the cavern. I was here once before — that time I 
told you I was going to the Phoul-a-Phooka.” 

We bent our heads as we saw Niall do, for the entrance 
was very low ; and we advanced some paces along a kind 
of passageway cut in the rock either by the hand of Nature 
or by some long-forgotten outlaw of the hills. A surprise 
awaited us, such as is common enough in underground places ; 
for we emerged all at once from the dark into a large and 
tolerably well-lighted apartment. The rugged walls of rock, 
moss-covered in places, were dry ; the floor was neatly 
boarded over, and a fire was ready for lighting in a corner. 
Above it, a cranny in the wall permitted the smoke to escape. 
In a little alcove apart from the principal cave were a bed, 
a few chairs, and a table. 

“ Niall lives here for weeks at a time/’ explained Winifred. 

Niall had set a match to the fire; for, warm as the 
weather was outside, there was a chilliness within as of a 
vault. Presently the sods blazed up, the flames leaping and 
glowing about the stooping figure of the old man, who seemed 
like some strange magician. We seated ourselves on the 
rough, deal chairs, near a table of similar material that oc- 
cupied the middle of the cave; and Niall opened a curiously 
contrived cupboard and brought forth some plates and cups 
and saucers. Winifred, opening our luncheon basket, took 
out and spread upon the table its simple contents — cold meat, 
home-made bread, a pat of fresh butter, and a jar of apple 
jelly, which the landlord had specially recommended. 

Niall then abruptly left the cavern, and returned in a few 
minutes with a pitcher of goat’s milk; but how or where he 
had obtained it he did not explain. 


120 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


“ I think he keeps some goats out there on the rocks,” 
said Winifred in a low voice to me, “ so that he can drink the 
milk when he is living here.” 

Our walk had given us an appetite; the coolness of the 
place, despite the fire, was refreshing. Winifred was in high 
spirits, making a jest of everything and thoroughly enjoying 
the simple repast. I, forgetting my late fears, was also dis- 
posed to be merry. Niall alone maintained a moody silence, 
eating but little, and drinking only sparingly of the goafs 
milk. When the meal was over, Winifred fetched some water 
from a mountain spring, and we washed the dishes in a rude 
earthen vessel and restored them to their places in the cup : 
board built against the rock. When this was done, Niall said 
abruptly : 

“ I will show you now what you have come here to see — 
the treasure which the earth has yielded up to me. Some of 
these things are from the tombs of kings or warriors ; some 
buried at the time, perhaps, of the Danish invasion. They 
are all, I believe, .of value, greater or less.” 

When he had thus spoken he began to creep around the 
cavern with a furtive, stealthy movement, examining every 
chink and cranny, as though unseen eyes were watching him. 
At last he approached a certain corner, withdrawing again, 
and looking all around him with eager, troubled eyes. Then 
he touched what seemed to be a secret spring, and before us 
was another dark passage. 

This dark passage had been made by some former oc- 
cupant of the cave, who stood, perhaps, in danger of his life. 
We entered, and at the end of it was a second and much 
smaller cavern, the darkness of which was relieved by the 
gleam of shining metal. I stood still and drew my breath 
hard. Was I dreaming, or had I gone back to the world of 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS . 


121 


the Arabian Nights? This could not be Ireland, and Niall a 
prosaic, end-of-the-century Irishman ! He must surely be a 
magician of old — one of the genii sprung from Aladdin’s 
lamp ; and the child beside him, in her delicate, aerial love- 
liness, some fairy showing the treasures of the earth to 
mortal eyes. 

Niall, putting aside his gloom, suddenly brightened into 
enthusiasm, which lighted up his face as with the fire of 
genius. He told us of the old warriors, chiefs and kings, or 
of the beautiful ladies in shining satin robes, who had worn 
these costly ornaments — the fibulae or brooches, the breast- 
plates of thin burnished gold, the crowns, the bracelets, the 
collars, some studded with precious gems. And there were 
shining heaps of gold besides, fresh from the mint. These 
Niall had obtained in exchange for the ore which he had dug 
up from the bed of streams and also for gold still in the 
lump. 

The time seemed to pass as in a dream. We were never 
tired listening, Niall of dwelling upon the glories of his 
treasure-house. The old man had spent hours and days 
polishing those articles with chemicals, with whose use he 
was well acquainted, and some of which gave out a strange, 
pungent odor; for it had been no small labor to clean away 
the rust perhaps of ages. 

“ Every year I part with some of them,” Niall said mourn- 
fully, rather as one who spoke to himself than to us. “And 
it is hard, hard; but I add a little each time to the pile of 
coin. When the day comes I shall sell them all — all ! ” 

He motioned us to go out again into the first cavern; 
and, touching the spring, he closed away the treasures and 
sank once more into a listless mood, seated at the table, his 
head buried in his hands. Winifred, who had listened with 


122 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


open-mouthed delight to Niall’s tales of the past, and had 
been as much interested in seeing the treasures as though 
she saw them for the first time, now sat thoughtfully beside 
me, gazing into the fire. Presently she grew tired of inaction, 
and, springing to her feet, began to dance about the cavern 
— a graceful, charming figure in that rocky setting. And as 
she danced she chanted a weird song in the Irish tongue, 
which Niall had taught her. 

Gradually Niall raised his head. The air or the words 
of the song seemed to have a strange effect upon him — to 
rouse him, as it were, from his lethargy. He fixed his eyes 
upon Winifred, watching her every movement with a fierce 
eagerness. Then his eyes turned upon me, and there was the 
fire almost of insanity lighting them. As he gazed he rose 
from his chair, coming toward me with a slow, gliding step, 
while I sat paralyzed with terror. 

“ Why should I not kill you,” he said, in a deep, low 
tone, like the growling of some mountain torrent, “ and bury 
you here in the hills? You have brought the curse upon me. 
Like the carrion bird, your coming has heralded evil. My 
heart is burning within me because of the sorrow that con- 
sumes it. You have charmed the child from me to take her 
away to the unknown land.” 

“ But remember,” I managed to say, “ that it is with your 
consent, and that I have promised to bring her back again 
when you will.” 

“ Promised ! ” he repeated fiercely. “As if you could con- 
trol events — govern the wilful mind of a child and force her 
to remember ! ” 

There was a deadly calmness in his voice, more fearful 
than the wildest outburst of anger ; and I trembled so violently 
that I could almost hear my teeth chattering. 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


123 


“ Ha ! ” he cried, “ you are afraid of me. I can see you 
tremble. And you may well; for Niall, in his wrath, is ter- 
rible as the mountain torrent in its course.” 

I fixed my eyes upon him as upon a wild beast whose fury 
I was striving to tame. Every moment I feared that he 
might spring upon me, when the voice of Winifred suddenly 
broke the spell. It was evident she had not at first perceived 
what was going on. 

“ Niall ! ” she said imperiously. “ What are you saying 
to the lady ? Why are you trying to frighten her ? ” 

She interposed her slender figure between us as she spoke. 

Niall’s eyes sought the ground in a crestfallen manner, 
and he muttered: 

“ Forgive me, my little lady ! ” 

“ I won’t forgive you if you act like that any more, Niall ! ” 
she declared. “ You know how the old chieftains and kings 
you are always talking about treated their guests. And isn’t 
the lady your guest here in your own cavern, Niall?” 

Niall murmured : 

“ I forgot, I forgot ! Tis all my poor head. At times I 
can think only of one thing — that she is taking you away.” 

“And ’tis you who want me to go for my own good,” 
Winifred said gravely. 

Niall turned away with a groan. 

“ I am willing to go,” Winifred went on, “ because Father 
Owen said I should. He knows what is best. He told me it 
was God sent the lady here.” 

Niall broke into an uncontrollable fury, which caused even 
Winifred to step back. 

“What care I for Father Owen or the lady?” he ex- 
claimed. 

Her face was pale; I think it was the first time she had 


124 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


ever been afraid of Niall. But she faced the old man bravely ; 
though his face, working with passion, his streaming hair 
and huge frame made him look like a veritable Cyclops. 

“ Be still, Niall,” she cried, “ or the lady and I will go 
away out of your cave this minute, and be very sorry that 
we came here.” 

She put her small hand on his arm, and the touch seemed 
to calm him. 

“Forgive me!” he murmured once more, in the helpless, 
bewildered tone of a little child; and, sinking again into one 
of the chairs near the table, he buried his face in his hands 
and so remained for some moments. We did not disturb 
him by so much as a word; but I, relieved somewhat from 
my late suspense, though dreading a new access of fury, and 
eager to be gone, let my eyes rove round that singular place. 
The rugged face of the rock above our heads and all around 
was lit by the crackling flames of the turf which burned so 
brightly. I was startled from my thoughts by the voice of 
Niall; but this time it was soft and low as that of Winifred 
herself. Suddenly rising from his chair, he made me a low 
bow and offered a humble apology for his late rudeness. 
After that he was the same amiable and courteous gentleman 
he so often appeared, and as pleasant as possible, talking a 
great deal and telling us many interesting things. 

“ In this cave,” he said, “ during the penal times more 
than one priest took refuge. Mass was said here, and the 
people flocked from far and near to attend it. Here in the 
troubles of ’98 it is said that the patriot O’Byrne took refuge. 
This may be the precise cavern in which he dwelt, or it may 
not; but it gives the place an interest — a sad interest.” 

He paused and looked around him for an instant. 

“ I shall love this cave better than ever now,” said Wini- 


THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS. 125 

fred ; “ and I shall often think of it when I am far away in 
the New World—” 

Her voice broke a little. 

“ Think of it, my child ! ” cried Niall. “ Oh, do think of 
it when you are far beyond the ocean! Think of whatever 
will make you love Ireland and make you remember.” 

The tears coursed down his cheeks and there was anguish 
in his voice. 

“ Don’t cry, Niall ! ” said Winifred. “ I shall always re- 
member you and your cave and dear old Granny and Wicklow 
and Ireland.” 

She said the words as solemnly as if they were a vow; 
and they had a weird sound there in that hole in the rocks 
which had sheltered many a noble and saintly soul. 

“ There spoke my own lady ! ” cried Niall, triumphantly. 

“ Nothing shall ever make me forget,” added Winifred. 

“ I, for my part,” I broke in, “ shall do my best to help 
you to remember; and so I solemnly promise here on this 
holy ground, where Mass has been said and where martyrs 
have trod.” 

It was near evening when we left that wonderful spot, 
and, deafened once more by the noise of the Phoul-a-Phooka, 
retraced our steps in silence. 


126 


IN THE CAPITAL . 


CHAPTER XVI. 

IN THE CAPITAL. 

The August morning which was to see our departure 
dawned at last. The leave-taking with old Granny Meehan 
was very pathetic. The poor woman, with her deep resigna- 
tion, her confidence in God’s providence, was a striking il- 
lustration of the best virtues of her race. Calmly she bade 
us farewell, praying many a prayer, invoking many a blessing 
on the beloved head of her little charge. We left her sitting 
at her accustomed seat near the hearth, with Tabby purring 
against her and the pleasant sunshine flooding the apartment. 

Winifred had been up early, as she said, to bid “good-by !’’ 
to every stick and stone. She called each fowl in the court- 
yard by name, as she had done on that other morning when 
I saw her feeding them; and her tears fell silently as she 
bent over them. 

When the moment came to say the last farewell, Winifred 
seized Brown Peter, the cat, in her arms; and the animal 
blinked knowingly, and purred and rubbed its head against 
her soft cheek. Then Winifred threw her arms once more 
around Granny’s neck, and that part of the leave-taking was 
over. Barney and Moira set up a howl and followed us down 
as far as the inn, where the jaunting-car with the luggage 
was waiting for us. 

Niall I did not see at all. He had taken leave of Winifred 
the evening before, and then, with a wild gesture of despair, 
had fled to the hills. He left for me a letter of instructions. 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


127 


recalling all my promises and the conditions upon which he 
had allowed the child to go. With the letter was a sum of 
money to be used for Winifred’s education. Could I have 
seen him I would have begged him to take back this latter; 
for when I had proposed taking the girl with me to America 
and putting her in a convent, it was, of course, to be at my 
own expense. I mentally resolved not to spend a penny of 
the amount, but to put it at interest for Winifred. 

At the inn we found Father Owen in conversation with 
the landlord. He came forward at once to greet us, crying 
out cheerfully to the child : 

“ So there you are, my pet, setting out upon your 
travels to seek your fortune, like the people in the fairy 
books ! ” 

Winifred’s grief, which had been of a gentle and restrained 
character throughout, and unlike what might have been ex- 
pected from her impetuous disposition, broke out again at 
sight of her beloved friend. 

“ Tut, tut, my child ! ” cried the priest. “ This isn’t April. 
Nature is smiling, and you must smile too. You’re going 
away to a great, fine country; and when you’ve seen every- 
thing, you’ll be coming back to tell us all about it.” 

Winifred wept silently, her tears falling down upon her 
gingham frock, so that she had to wipe them away. Father 
Owen turned to me, thinking it better, perhaps, to let the 
bitter, short-lived grief of childhood take its course. 

“And so you’re leaving Wicklow and Ireland, carrying 
with you, I hope, a good impression.” 

“ That I am,” I responded heartily ; “ and my most fervent 
wish is that I may come back again.” 

“ To be sure you will, with Winifred here; and I hope, if 
it be God’s will, we’ll all be here to receive you.” 


128 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


“ I hope so indeed,” I answered. 

“ I had a letter a few days ago from Father Brady in 
New York,” went on Father Owen. “ I was in the seminary 
with him in France. He knows you well and is glad I made 
your acquaintance.” 

“ I have known Father Brady for many years,” I replied ; 
“ he is a great friend of mine.” 

The old priest nodded as if to express his satisfaction. I 
thought, perhaps, he had written to make assurance doubly 
sure as to my fitness for the care of the child. If so, I could 
only admire his wisdom. 

“ Niall is in a bad way,” he whispered ; “ and will be, I 
don’t doubt, for days to come. I met him raging and tearing 
through the woods like a maniac. That is his manner of ex- 
pressing grief. It was useless to argue with him, so I just 
had to come away and leave him.” 

I told Father Owen how shocked I was to hear this, but 
he answered: 

“ Oh, he will get over the worst of it in a few days ! 
How different, though, from Granny Meehan! I went in 
to see her yesterday. She’s marked with grace, is that poor 
blind woman. ‘ It’s God’s will for the child to go,’ she said ; 
‘ and if I never have her with me again here below, why, we’ll 
meet above in glory, and we’ll be the happier for this sorrow.’ 
Wasn’t that beautiful, my dear lady? didn’t it make me 
ashamed of my own shortcomings ! ” 

I assented heartily. 

“ Yes, Father: she has a fine nature and a beautiful faith.” 

Meanwhile Winifred dried her tears, and was trying to 
soothe her humble friends, who had accompanied us with 
lamentations all the way. 

“ I’ll come back again,” Winifred said to them ; “ I won’t 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


129 


be very long away, and I’ll bring each of you something from 
America.’’ 

Her voice quivered as she made these promises, which 
caused Moira’s face to brighten a little through her tears, 
and Barney to stammer out, brokenly: 

“ Och, then, Miss Winifred alanna, if you bring us back 
yourself, it’s all we’ll be wantin’ ! ” 

His red eyes and tear-stained cheeks gave force and sin- 
cerity to his words. 

“ Be a man now, Barney,” said Father Owen, “ and just 
tell Miss Winifred you wish her joy in the fine voyage she’s 
going to take. Come, Moira my girl, dry your eyes and say 
good-by. Look how the sun is shining, and think how the 
goodness of God is over those that go and those that stay, 
just like yonder blue sky. Hear the thrush and the blackbird 
in the hedges giving glory to God whatever comes.” 

By this time we were seated in the car. I exchanged a 
few farewell words with my landlord, who showed real 
emotion at our departure. 

“ God be with you, ma’am ! ” he cried. “ It’s yourself has 
brightened us all up for weeks past. And God be with you 
too, Miss Winifred dear! Sure we’ll be missin’ your very 
pranks. Do you mind the day that you led me astray in the 
hills above, makin’ b’lieve you were a Will-o’-the wisp ? ” 

And the landlord forced a laugh, which was not very 
genuine. I think he would have continued his reminiscences 
longer had not Father Owen judged it best to put an end to 
the parting scene. 

“ Don’t be keeping them any longer,” he said ; “ let 
them get away before the heat of the day. And now 
I’ll give you my last blessing, Winifred my dear, and your 
kind friend too.” 


130 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


Winifred knelt at the old priest’s feet in the morning sun- 
shine. I, being already seated in the car, bent my head. 
Father Owen solemnly raised his hand — the consecrated hand 
of God’s minister, — looking upward, while his white hair 
framed his face like an aureola. Fervently he invoked the 
blessing of Heaven upon me and upon the child, upon our 
voyage and our arrival. His voice broke as he came to the 
last words, and he attempted to say no more; while I made 
a sign to the driver, who drove quickly from the door, fol- 
lowed by a parting howl from Barney and Moira. 

I stole a last glance at the lovely Glen of the Dargle, the 
waterfall in the distance, and the natural bridge spanning 
the ravine, on which I had first seen Winifred. The thought 
flashed into my mind that I had come into the paradise of 
her youth, disturbing its idyllic peace; whether for better or 
worse was yet to be seen. I consoled myself with the as- 
surance that, in any event, I had acted for the best. 

We took the Enniskerry road to Dublin, and tlib drive 
was delightful. At one point in the journey we passed be- 
tween the rude granite sides of that cleft in the mountains 
known as “ The Scalp.” As I looked up at them in their 
stern grandeur I had an uneasy feeling that some of the 
huge masses of rock, which appeared to be quite loose, might 
tumble upon our heads. Winifred, who was becoming, if not 
more cheerful, at least more composed, was greatly interested 
in “ The Scalp,” and told me the legend of the place. 

“ The devil,” she said, “ was once driving sheep to Dublin, 
and when he reached this mountain he couldn’t get through 
it. So he gave a great kick with his foot and made the 
passage for himself and his flocks. And that, ’tis said, is 
why it is so wild and strange. But of course it isn’t 
true,” Winifred concluded, eying the great rocks above 


IN THE CAPITAL. I3I 

us with her wistful eyes. “ Still, it is different from other 
mountains.” * 

“It has an uncouth shape,” I agreed; “and I suppose 
that s what put it into the people’s heads that the devil must 
have had a hand in its formation.” 

We arrived in Dublin somewhat tired after our’ drive, 
which was not, however, so very long ; and found ourselves 
comfortably lodged by night in a hotel on Sackville Street, 
whence we were to set forth again on our travels in a few days. 
For I had purposely arranged that we might spend a little time 
in the capital of Ireland, so that Winifred might get at least a 
bird’s-eye view of it. I could not guess what was passing in 
her mind as we went out, after resting a while, to stroll about 
in the lighted streets. She had never been in a city before, and 
must have been interested in so much that was novel. But she 
said little : she had not yet recovered her natural buoyancy. 

The following morning, however, we set out specially for 
sight-seeing. We went for a walk in the Phoenix Park, and 
from a vantage-point near the magazine looked down on the 
entire city, with its splendid bridges, its domes and spires. 
We saw the Nelson Pillar and the Wellington Monument, 
and we roamed at will along the verdant banks of the beautiful 
Liffey. We saw the Viceregal Lodge and the Corinthian 
Pillar and the Royal Hospital of Kilmainham. Then, of 
course, we had to see the churches. It would be tedious in- 
deed to set down here all that we did see. 

We were walking along Westmoreland Street one after- 
noon, just as the sun was setting. There had been a heavy 
shower, which had relieved the sultriness of an August day, 
and the ground was damp ; but the trees were a brighter green 
and sent forth a sweeter fragrance for the rain. Winifred 
said suddenly : 


132 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


“ I remember this place very well — Dublin, I mean. I was 
here long ago, when I was little.” 

“Yes? I suppose one’s memory does go back very far,” 
I observed thoughtfully. “ But can you recall, for instance, 
where you lived ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ It was in a big house,” she answered, “ with a good 
many stairs in it and a lot of people. Some of them may 
have been servants. And I remember a lady in a yellow dress. 
Perhaps she was my mother.” 

She stopped abruptly, as though the subject were painful; 
then resumed: 

“ Since I came to this place, I remember a good many 
things. The lady in the yellow dress was standing one evening 
in a great big room, and she had a flower in her hair. Oh, 
she was very beautiful ! A gentleman came in. He was tall 
and dark.” 

“With very bright eyes ? ” I put in eagerly. 

“Yes, they were bright,” she assented; “at least I think 
so. I remember the lady better than the gentleman. They 
were talking, and I couldn’t understand much of what they 
said; but I am almost sure the gentleman was angry, for 
his face got very red. Then the lady laughed, and the gentle- 
man went away quickly and shut the door hard. The lady 
laughed again and said to me : ‘I hope you haven’t your 
father’s temper, child. Poor Roderick! he does flare up so 
quick. He is just raving now because I don’t want to go to 
some outlandish place in the hills.’ ” 

The child stopped, but the little drama of the past which 
she had evoked told me a great deal. Niall had blamed 
Roderick for not bringing his wife to the castle; but the 
wife — a somewhat hard and cold beauty, as old Granny 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


133 


Meehan had once described her — would not come. Roderick 
had not cared to throw the blame upon her, and so had 
quarrelled with his kinsman. Winifred seemed to ponder 
upon what she had just told me. 

“ I wonder where he wanted her to go ? ” she said slowly. 

I did not answer; for I knew it would pain her to hear 
her dear old castle described as an “outlandish place.” 

“ And I wonder, how he could be angry with her,” the 
child continued, “ she was so pretty and had on such a lovely 
dress ! ” 

“ Beauty is not the only thing, and fine dress still less,” 
I urged. 

Winifred turned on me with flashing eyes, as though I 
had cast some reflection upon the phantom evoked from her 
youth by the presence of familiar scenes. 

“ But that was my mother ! ” she cried, as if that silenced 
every objection. Then she added, more gently: “ I am sorry 
my father was angry with her.” 

“ Yet your father has a noble heart,” I declared. 

She smiled as if pleased. 

“ Some day I may see him,* 9 she said ; “ but my mother 
is dead.” 

There was great pathos in that simple remark; and after 
that Winifred, in her usual fashion, turned away altogether 
from the subject. Just then we came to a point whence we 
had a distant view of the Wicklow Hills. I called Winifred's 
attention to them. She gazed at them with tear-dimmed eyes, 
and I think after that took very little interest in the rest of 
the landscape. 

“ My own hills ! ” she said. “ Oh, I wonder if Niall is 
abroad on them now, and if Barney and Moira are leading 
poor Cusha to the pasture ? And Granny, I suppose, is sitting 


134 


IN THE CAPITAL. 


alone — all alone. She can not go out on the hills nor see 
their beauty.” 

I tried to divert her thoughts, but for the time being it 
was useless. That was our last day in Dublin. Early on the 
morrow we were to set out for Liverpool, whence we were 
to sail for the Land of the Free. 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


135 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 

Our voyage to America was a very pleasant one. The 
weather was excellent. The warm glow of midsummer was 
over everything, and the cool ocean breezes were most grate- 
ful as we sat at evening on the deck and watched the stars 
burn above our heads in the sky, which always seems so vast 
when one is on the face of the water. After the first two or 
three days, neither of us was seasick, and Winifred took to 
the sea at once. She loved the salt air, the cool spray blow- 
ing in her face as she stood upon the deck, her hair flying 
about her and her face aglow. Often she spoke of the dear 
land she had left and of her dear ones, while her eyes filled 
with tears and her voice trembled with emotion. 

One afternoon, as we watched the sun glinting on the 
waves, Winifred said: 

“ Just now that same sun is lighting all the hills ! That 
was what made people call them, in the Irish tongue, the 
hills of ‘ the gilt spurs/ ” 

“ That is a pretty name/’ I observed ; “ and well describes 
how they look at this hour of a fine evening/’ 

“ I wish I could see them now/’ said Winifred ; and then 
she fell silent, as if in thought. 

She was very shy of the strangers on board the steamer, 
and rarely exchanged a word with any of them except at 
table; though many of them noticed her and spoke with ad- 
miration of her charming face and her graceful ways. 


136 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


It was a lovely, calm morning when we steamed into New 
York Bay. We both were up early and on deck; and I 
pointed out to Winifred Staten Island, lying green and 
garden-like on the water’s breast; and Governor’s Island, 
with its forts; and Bedloe’s Island, with its huge Liberty 
statue, the goddess standing with colossal torch at the en- 
trance to the New World. At last there was New York itself, 
the Empire City, the great metropolis; and over it rested a 
haze, whence emerged the steeple of Old Trinity, the Custom 
House, and the tops of various high buildings, which filled 
Winifred with wonder; she had never seen anything like 
these “ sky-scrapers,” as they are called. She talked of them 
even after we had landed, and as we drove up Broadway to 
the hotel were I had my quarters. This great thoroughfare 
seemed to bewilder her altogether. 

“ The people ! ” she cried — “ all the people ! Why, they 
are thicker together than trees in a wood,” and she simply 
stopped her ears against the noise. “ It seems as if there was 
a thunderstorm going on all the time!” she exclaimed. 

She was much amused also at the swift, gliding motion 
of the cable-cars, unlike anything she had yet seen. 

“ Isn’t it all wonderful ! ” she would cry. “ Oh, if Niall 
could see this ! ” 

“ He has seen just as wonderful sights and far more so,” 
I reminded her. “ You know how much he has travelled.” 

“ Well, if Barney and Moira and the other people from 
home could see this place, they’d think they were dreaming. 
I’m not quite sure that I won’t wake up — only,” she added, 
with one of her droll looks, “ I couldn’t be asleep in such a 
noise.” 

We had reached the corner of Twenty-third Streeet, and 
I saw Madison Square and the Fifth Avenue Hotel arising on 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


1 37 


my vision. There was even an unusual traffic just then. Cars, 
express wagons, private carriages, vehicles of all sorts, were 
crowding and jostling one another to the imminent risk of 
those within them, as well as those who attempted to cross 
on foot. The carriage in which we sat had to stop for an 
instant, and in that instant I saw standing at the corner of 
the street Roderick O’Byrne. His face was clouded by care 
or anxiety of some sort, which wholly changed its ordinary 
bright character. He was looking thoughtfully before him, 
while he waited a favorable opportunity to make the crossing. 

Suddenly his eyes fell full upon Winifred, who was look- 
ing out of the window with eager interest. He started as if 
he had been stung. Yet he could not possibly have recognized 
the child, who was, happily, unconscious of his regard. It 
must have been some resemblance he discovered in her. 
Fortunately, he was so absorbed in his study of her face that 
he did not perceive me. I shrank back as far as possible in 
my corner of the vehicle and waited breathlessly, till next 
moment the carriage swept onward, and those two, so closely 
bound by the tenderest ties of kindred, were parted in the 
great vortex. 

I felt a sense of relief that Roderick had not glanced in 
my direction. Had he done so, he would inevitably have re- 
cognized me, and I should have been confronted at our next 
meeting with all manner of awkward inquiries. For I could 
not tell him that his daughter was in my keeping and then 
refuse to let him see or communicate with her. 

The hotel seemed a most magnificent place to Winifred; 
for though we had been in very comfortable quarters in 
Dublin, the luxury of a New York hotel seems quite a dif- 
ferent afifair. The service in the dining-room, the table ap- 
pointments, the variety of the bill of fare, the orchestra 


138 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


which played sweet strains during all the meal, were dream- 
like, almost, to this child of the hills. The elevator seemed 
to her as something very amusing. She would like to have 
gone up and down in it several times. She had a charming 
little room adjoining mine, all done in gray and pink, and an 
outlook upon the gay street. 

She could scarcely tear herself away from the window in 
the few days that elapsed before I had decided upon a school 
for her and made some simple preparations. Indeed, I found 
it rather difficult to decide upon a school for the child, not 
because there were no good ones, but for the opposite reason 
that there were so many. But to one thing I made up my 
mind: she must be out of town. The presence of her father 
in New York made that a necessity. Yet, on the other hand, 
I could not send her too far away, as I wanted to see her 
often, mark her progress and the effect of austere school-life 
on one who had been accustomed to a free, wild existence 
on the beautiful Wicklow hills. It was this circumstance 
which finally determined my choice. I must be in easy distance 
of the child, so great was my responsibility. 

I took her to her new home one evening just as the 
shadows were deepening and New York lay like a great map 
traced out in lights. They gleamed and glowed through the 
gathering darkness, and through the smoke clouds which 
arose from the countless factories. I felt a curious sense of 
desolation, and I was certain that Winifred would suffer 
from this when she found herself enclosed in an unfamiliar 
building, to become a mere atom, as it were, in a multitude. 

The child was grave and quiet, but did not seem to shrink 
at all from school-life. In fact, she had rather entered into 
the prospect of going there with the enthusiasm of her age, 
and had begun to plan out the details of her new existence. 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


139 


She told me after that she had experienced an awful sense 
of loneliness when going to bed in a strange dormitory, with 
its rows of curtained beds, amongst so many whom she had 
never seen before. During the night prayers and the final 
hymn she had cried all the time. 

These sensations are common enough to all who go into 
new scenes for the first time; but for some weeks after 
Winifred’s arrival at the convent she reminded me of nothing 
so much as a bird in a cage. I am sure the ordinary little 
restraints of school-life must have been intolerable to one 
brought up, as she had been, unrestrained upon the hills. In 
the austere convent parlor, with her black dress, and her 
curls fastened back from her face with a ribbon, she was like 
a spirit of her former self. She told me, in her quaint speech, 
that she only lived from one visit of mine to another. Usually 
she was pale, sad and listless. The spirit of mischief seemed 
to have gone out of her, and the Religious who presided in 
the parlor told me that she was docile to her teachers and 
very diligent in her studies. 

“ If I study very hard perhaps I will get home sooner,” 
Winifred explained to me as we sat hand in hand in the 
corner of the parlor. “ My heart aches to see Ireland again, 
and the Dargle and the hills and Granny and Niall and Father 
Owen, and every one.” 

“ It will not be very long till you see them all again,” 

I observed soothingly. “ Time passes very quickly.” 

She heaved a deep sigh, as if to signify that time did not 
pass so very quickly for her. 

When I rose to go that day I told her that I was going 
to get permission, if possible, for her to come down and spend 
a day with me. 

“To spend a day with you in the big city down there ! ” 


140 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


she cried. “Oh, it will be lovely! We can see so many 
things and we can talk about home/’ 

That seemed to be indeed her greatest pleasure. The per- 
mission was granted, with even better terms than I had ex- 
pected; for she was to come down on the following Tuesday 
morning and remain with me till the day after. 

“ It is a privilege we do not often grant,” the nun said, 
smiling. “ But in this child’s case we think it is really es- 
sential. The change from a widely different life was so very 
sudden.” 

“ So you are to come on Tuesday, and this is Sunday,” 
I told Winifred. 

Her eyes fairly sparkled with delight, as she danced along 
by my side with something of her old gaiety. “ There is 
only one day between. To-morrow I shall study very hard, 
and say all my lessons and practise for my singing lesson on 
Thursday, and do everything well.” 

I smiled. 

“ Father Owen would say you should do that every day,” 
I reminded her. “ You remember how he pointed out that 
the robin did his work in storm or sunshine.” 

“ Oh, but ’tis much easier to work in sunshine ! ” Winifred 
cried out. 

“ I suppose it is,” laughed I ; “ but that is no reason why 
you shouldn’t try to do what is harder.” 

“ I do try,” Winifred said earnestly. “ I get up the moment 
the bell rings in the morning — though I don’t find that as 
hard as some of the girls do, for I was often out on the 
hills at sunrise. Then I’m one of the first in the chapel; 
and in class I study my lessons and I hardly ever talk. At 
recreation I don’t feel much like playing yet, but perhaps I 
shall after a while — when I know some of the girls better.” 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


141 

“Yes, I am sure you will. How do you like your com- 
panions ? ” I asked. 

“ I think a good many of them are nice. ' But it takes me 
a long time to know strangers, I suppose because I scarcely 
ever saw any.” 

“ And your teachers ? ” I inquired. 

“ Oh, they are all very kind, especially to me, because I 
come from so far away and have no mother! I like my 
music teacher best, though. I wish you knew her.” 

“ I must make her acquaintance some time,” I remarked ; 
“ I want to know all your friends.” 

“ The French teacher is the crossest. She isn’t a nun, 
though, and doesn’t wear a nun’s dress. She scolds me if 
I don’t know the verbs or if I make mistakes in spelling. I 
told her the other day that I didn’t want a stranger to speak 
so to me. The girls all laughed, but she didn’t understand 
what I was saying.” 

“ Just as well in that case.” And I laughed, picturing to 
myself the little girl addressing the Frenchwoman with her 
princess air. 

We were standing all this time in the hall, which was not 
altogether according to rule, as I well knew; for farewells 
are usually made in the parlor. But I had not the heart to 
send Winifred away, and the presiding Religious did not ap- 
pear to notice. I fancy the nuns often strained the rule a little 
in her regard, taking the circumstances into consideration. 

“Good-by till Tuesday!” Winifred called after me, as 
I stepped out into the porch ; “ and thank you for all the nice 
things you have brought me ! ” 

For indeed I never went empty-handed to see the child, 
remembering my own school-days. I had visited Maillard’s 
that afternoon before taking the cars, and had chosen from 


142 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


the dainty confections which so temptingly fill the glass cases 
and adorn the plate-glass windows. I was told that she al- 
ways distributed my gifts amongst her companions with a 
royal generosity, often keeping but little for herself. While 
I was still in the porch I heard her telling a companion: 

“ I am going to town on Tuesday. Isn’t that splendid! ” 

“ Oh, you lucky girl ! ” said the other. “ I wish I had 
come from Ireland or some other place: then I might get 
out oftener.” 

I went homeward, musing on that happy time of life when 
a day out of school, a promised holiday, gives a keener de- 
light than anything in after life. 

“ Why does youth ever pass away, with its glow and 
glory ? ” I thought. “ And how dull its going leaves this 
prosaic earth ! ” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING . 


143 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

It was a curious coincidence that on the very Sunday 
evening after I had visited Winifred and arranged for her 
to spend Tuesday with me at the hotel, I should have gone to 
supper with a friend of mine who was also a great friend of 
Roderick O’Byrne. She was an exceptional woman, of rare 
gifts, of warm heart and of long purse. She had the social 
talent in its greatest perfection, and gathered at her house a 
most brilliant and entertaining circle. She lived in a part 
of the city which is rapidly becoming old-fashioned — in the 
once desirable Murray Hill region — and her house was what 
is known to New Yorkers as an English basement-house: 
that is to say, the dining-room is on a level with the street, 
while the drawing-room, or suite of drawing-rooms, is reached 
by mounting the first stairs. A very handsome suite of 
rooms had my friend, appointed with the utmost elegance, 
and containing innumerable souvenirs of travel, artistic trifles 
of all sorts, with exquisite pictures and priceless statuary, 
arranged to give the best possible effect. 

I had a standing invitation for the Sunday evening sup- 
pers, which were an institution of the house, and where one 
was always sure of meeting very agreeable people. The 
conversation was usually of everything interesting under the 
sun. As the guests began to assemble that evening, I saw 
amongst them, with very mingled feelings, the familiar figure 
of Roderick O’Byrne. It was my first meeting with him since 
my return from Ireland, and his presence made me conscious 
of a curious sensation. I had heard so much of his past 


144 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


history, the most hidden pages of his life, that it seemed 
strange to meet him there in an ordinary drawing-room. 
When I thought of Niall, of the old castle with its romance 
and mystery, it was hardly credible that this tall and slender 
gentleman in the well-fitting evening clothes should be the 
central figure in such a drama. And all the time I was with- 
holding from him such a secret as the presence in America 
of his only child. 

While Roderick stood exchanging a few words with his 
hostess, I thought all at once of that little scene which Wini- 
fred had recalled — when he parted in anger from the lady 
in the yellow dress, who must have been, of course, his wife. 
As soon as he saw me he came forward to shake hands, and 
dropped into a chair at my side. I found a change in him: 
he seemed more silent and preoccupied than I had ever seen 
him. However, he was never given to talking commonplaces, 
and I waited till his mood should change. He sat near me 
at supper, and on the other side of him was a young and 
very gushing lady. Roderick seemed amused at her efforts 
to interest him. 

“ I have just heard/’ she exclaimed, “ that you are Irish, 
Mr. O’Byrne; and I am so glad! Our hostess has told me 
that you are not only from Ireland, but intensely Irish. Now, 
I think that everything that is intensely Irish is intensely nice.” 

“ Thanks so much ! ” replied Roderick, carelessly. “ I am 
glad you approve of my nationality; for I have to plead 
guilty to a very unfashionable love for my country.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t plead guilty at all ! ” cried the charmer. 
“It is so refreshing nowadays. And you Irish are so de- 
lightfully enthusiastic and impressionable, and all that.” 

Roderick raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. 

“ By the way,” he observed, turning abruptly to me, “I 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


145 


wonder if you will agree with the sentiment expressed by 
my neighbor — you who are so lately back from Ireland ? ” 

“ ‘That everything that is intensely Irish is intensely nice’ ?” 
I asked. “ I am prepared to endorse that sentiment ; for I 
am more Irish than the Irish themselves. I know I have 
borrowed somebody else’s saying; but, really, I have fallen 
in love with the dear old land. Its hills and glens have got 
into my heart.” 

There was a softened look on the man’s face and a 
moisture in his eyes; for he was deeply affected. Presently 
he said in a low tone: 

“ Do you know I am very homesick of late ? I am pining 
for a sight of the beautiful hills of the Gilt Spurs and the 
glorious Dargle. Oh, what would I not give for one good 
look at the Dargle, glen and river both ! ” 

“ Why don’t you take a trip to Ireland ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, for many reasons ! ” he said hurriedly. 

He did not go into detail and I could not ask. 

“ But you will go back some day ? ” I urged. 

“ Go back ? ” he repeated. “ I used to think I should : 
indeed, at one time I longed for the day and hour of my 
return; and now — ” 

I wanted to ask the question which rose to my lips, out 
I dared not; and just then the conversation became general. 
Our hostess liked to strike sparks from all her guests, and 
especially from the brilliant Roderick O’Byrne. After we 
had all returned to the drawing-room he gradually drifted 
back again to his chair beside me. We had always been 
friendly, but I knew that my society had a special attraction 
for him just then, as a link between him and Ireland. He 
very soon, in fact, reverted to the subject of our previous 
talk, inquiring as to this or that place near his old home; 


146 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


though I observed that he never once mentioned any person 
or persons in the neighborhood. It was evident for some 
reason that he did not wish to bring Niall into the discourse, 
and I was just as anxious at the time to avoid that part of 
the subject. 

Suddenly Roderick said: 

“ I was struck very much the other day by a face which 
I saw just for a moment.” 

My heart stood still. I knew what was coming, and I 
almost dreaded it. But, happily, he did not associate the in- 
cident with me. 

“ It was that of a child,” he said, somewhat gravely. “ It 
was a beautiful face, I suppose; but it was not that which 
specially attracted my attention. I only caught a glimpse — ; 
the merest glimpse — of it, but it brought back the past to me 
as in a flash.” 

“ Strange ! ” I commented mechanically ; for I scarce 
knew what to say. 

“ Yes, it was very strange,” went on Roderick. “ I was 
standing at the corner of Twenty-third Street, waiting to 
cross, and it must be owned that I was thinking of anything 
else than Ireland and my past life there. You know what 
a crowd there is at that particular place. Suddenly a carriage 
stood still an instant, delayed by the traffic; and out of it 
looked that exquisite child-face, full of wonder, of curiosity, 
and, I thought, of sadness.” 

I concealed my emotion by an eflfort; and had he not 
been so occupied with his subject he might have perceived at 
once that the story had an unusual interest for me. 

“ Would you believe,” he said, “that New York faded 
from before me, and instead I saw the Dargle, the glen and 
the river, with all their lovely surroundings — yes, I saw them 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


147 


as distinctly as I see you now ? The Dargle and — other places 
about there/’ he concluded, after a brief pause. 

I wondered if he were thinking of the castle. 

“ By the way,” he asked of a sudden, “ were you in that 
part of Ireland at all — I mean Wicklow?” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” I said, trying to speak indifferently. “ I 
saw most of the show places there.” 

“Did you meet any people thereabouts?” he inquired, 
speaking very slowly and playing with a paper-knife which 
he had taken up from a neighboring davenport. 

It was my turn to hesitate a moment before I replied: 

“ I met the parish priest, Father Owen, as he is popularly 
called.” 

“ Father Owen Farley ! ” exclaimed Roderick, apparently 
carried away by a sudden burst of enthusiasm ; “ the dearest, 
the best, the kindest of men ! ” 

“You know him, then?” I asked. 

The glow faded from his face almost at once. 

“ I was brought up in that part of the country,” he said 
in a reserved way, as if anxious to drop the subject; “so 
that of course I knew him when I was a boy.” 

“ Well, he certainly is all you say of him,” I declared 
cordially ; “ he charmed me from the very first.” 

“ Yes, he has an unusually attractive way with him,” 
Roderick said — “or used to have long ago.” 

And then he dismissed the subject and began to talk of 
some matter of current interest. However, he very soon re- 
verted to that one topic which seemed to be occupying his 
thoughts. Waking out of a reverie, he suddenly exclaimed : 

“ I wish I were a miniature painter, and I should try to 
put on ivory, just from memory, that exquisite child-face.” 

“ Perhaps you will see her again,” I ventured. 


148 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


“ I never expect to,” he said decisively. “ New York is 
not Ireland. People are swallowed up here as in a quick- 
sand.” 

“ Life has many surprises,” I observed tentatively. 

He looked at me keenly for an instant; then he resumed 
his indifferent air and continued to play with the paper-knife. 

“ You will think me altogether a dreamer,” remarked 
Roderick, “ to be so impressed by a passing face.” 

I do not know what impelled me to say then : 

“ Perhaps there was some special reason. Possibly she 
may have reminded you of some one whom you once knew.” 

He started ; the paper-knife fell from his hands, and he 
was long in picking it up. But the flash of his dark eyes in 
that brief moment recalled Niall. The incident was not with- 
out its value. I saw my way clear before me. I should 
gradually try to revive his interest in the past: to forge a 
chain which should lead him inevitably back to the castle of 
his ancestors, to Winifred and to his eccentric but devoted 
kinsman. And at the same time I might chance to discover 
his motive for so long neglecting his only child. 

When Roderick raised his head again, and replaced the 
paper-knife, with a hand which trembled somewhat, upon 
the davenport, he said, in a tone of studied carelessness: 

“ Don’t let us talk of this any more. It does seem very 
absurd. I am half ashamed of having told you anything 
about it. And there is the professor going to the piano.” 

During the music Roderick lay back in his chair, and as 
he listened to the dreamy, soothing sound of the “ Songs 
without Words,” I knew that his mind was running on the 
sweet child-face which had so impressed him, and on the 
train of associations which that chance meeting had con- 
jured up. I had no further conversation with him on that 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


149 


occasion, and very soon after I took my leave and went 
home to ponder over the situation, which I found most inter- 
esting. It seemed as if I were holding die thread of a 
tangled skein, which must sooner or later straighten itself 
out. I lay awake half the night, picturing to myself Ro- 
derick’s delight when he should discover that the sweet child- 
face was that of his own Winifred; and his sorrow, and 
perhaps remorse, for the past, when he had neglected her. I 
wondered where and when the disclosure should take place 
and how it would be brought about. I also resolved to 
interest Winifred in her father. I could see that she clung 
much more to the memory of her mother, and seemed to 
remember Roderick only as the dark gentleman who had 
got angry with the beautiful lady and slammed the door. 

I rose early next morning, for I wanted to go down town. 
I was going as far as Barclay Street to buy a small statue 
of the Sacred Heart, which I wished to give Winifred as 
a present. I was impatient for her coming; for, besides the 
fact that I was really attached to the child and took a sincere 
pleasure in her society, I felt a new interest in her since my 
late conversation with her father. 

I looked out the window. There was a drizzling fog. The 
shops opposite looked dreary and uninviting, and the people 
who were hastening down Broadway had all the same 
miserable appearance, looking spectral in the fog. My heart 
sank. If it were the same kind of weather on the morrow 
there would be no chance of having Winifred with me. In 
the first place, she would not be allowed to come ; and in the 
second, there would be very little pleasure in bringing her 
down from the convent just to spend a few hours shut up in 
my apartments at the hotel. 

I dressed and went out. The streets were glazed over 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


150 

with a thin coat of frost, which made the walking treacherous 
and unsafe. The snowfall of two or three days before had 
entirely disappeared. I picked my way along, making one 
more in the procession of spectres, till I reached the nearest 
elevated station, which was in the square at Thirty-third 
Street, near the Herald building. I was soon flying through 
the air, and in the twinkling of an eye was almost in the 
heart of the business portion of the great “ down-town.” 
Warehouses arose on all sides: from some came a fragrant 
odor telling of coffee and spices; from others flashed visions 
of delicate china, rich bronzes, and beautiful glassware. And 
finally I was set down within a block or so of my destination. 

I picked my way carefully along the narrow lane-like 
street, and emerged just opposite old St. Peter’s, the mother- 
church of New York. Its somber walls looked gray and dis- 
mal in that dreary fog; but within it was warm and cheerful, 
and imposing in a massive, old-fashioned way. I prayed 
earnestly for the success of all our scheming — that is, Niall’s 
and mine; and, above all, for the happy reunion of father 
and daughter. 

After that I went out again to purchase my statue. I was 
now in the region of the Catholic publishers, which is full 
of many memories of other days and the various phases of 
Catholic life in New York. There much has been done for 
the Catholic cause; much has been discussed, much has been 
attempted, and many attempts have failed. It is historic 
ground. I bought my statue and hurried home, glad to be 
housed on that chilly and disagreeable day. I had a few 
other preparations to make, on the chance that the weather 
would clear up; but I resolved to leave them till the morn- 
ing, when they might be easily accomplished by the aid of the 
telephone. 


WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 


I5i 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 

The next morning I woke earlier than usual; and, 
getting up at once, looked out of the window. Every trace 
of the fog had vanished, and there was the sun leaping and 
dancing as merrily as if it were midsummer instead of De- 
cember. I hurried off to Mass, and got back again, to take 
a hasty breakfast and sit down in my room to wait for Wini- 
fred. It was about ten o’clock when, with my eyes glued to 
the window, I saw her little face looking out of the carriage 
which I had sent for her. I ran down to the ladies’ entrance 
to bring her in. She looked brighter and better than I had 
seen her since she left Ireland. She wore her black school 
costume, but her hair was no longer brushed painfully down 
to comparative smoothness: it broke out into the same saucy 
curls I knew of old. She darted out of the carriage and in 
at the open door, throwing herself into my arms. 

“ Here I am ! ” she cried. “And so glad to see you 
again ! ” 

“ I began to be afraid yesterday,” I observed, “ that we 
were both going to be disappointed.” 

“ Oh, so was I ! ” said Winifred. “ I went to the window 
the first thing, to be sure that the sun was shining and the 
fog gone away.” 

“ So did I. But there couldn’t have been much sun at 
the time you got up.” 


152 WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 

“ Oh, it was there ! And I saw there wasn’t any fog and 
that it was going to be a fine day.” 

I brought her up to my room and installed her in a chair 
to rest while I got on my things. 

“ For of course we must go out as soon as we can,” I 
declared. “ It will never do to miss a moment of such a 
perfect day, and it will be all too short.” 

A shade seemed to pass over Winifred’s sensitive face at 
the words. But I called her attention to the street below; 
for Broadway on a sunshiny morning is a very pleasant and 
cheerful sight, and to Winifred it was all new ; so that it 
was certain the constant panorama of human beings, all jost- 
ling one another, eager, excited, apparently in a fearful hurry, 
would keep her fully occupied while I completed my toilet. 
Once the child called me to the window to see a Chinaman. 
She had never seen one before, and she went off into a peal 
of laughter at the odd sight. This particular John was 
dressed in a pale blue silk shirt over his baggy black trousers. 
His pigtail was long and luxuriant, denoting rank. 

“What is he?” cried Winifred. “You have such funny 
people in America. I don’t think there are any like him in 
all Ireland.” 

“ Not in Wicklow, at any rate,” I answered. “ Indeed, I 
don’t know what they would think of him there. He looks 
as if he had just stepped off a tea-caddy, straight from China.” 

“ Oh, he is a Chinese, then ! I never saw one before ex- 
cept in pictures.” 

The next thing that attracted her attention was one of' 
the great vans, drawn by enormous dray-horses. 

“Look at their big legs and feet!” laughed Winifred— 
“as big as a tree almost! Oh, I wish Barney and Moira 
could see them ! ” 


WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 


153 


The ladies’ dresses, too, astonished her — especially of those 
who drove in the carriages; for she had never seen such 
costumes before. 

At last I was ready, and we passed down the stairway, 
with its heavy piled moquette carpet, to the street without. 
Just across the way was a florist’s, and I told Winifred we 
should make our first visit there. We had to wait a favorable 
moment for crossing Broadway. The child was naturally 
fearless, but she was somewhat afraid of the multitude of 
vehicles — cars, carts, and private carriages — which formed a 
dense mass between the two sidewalks. 

“ Yet crossing the street up here is nothing,” I said. 
“ Wait till you try it some day down on lower Broadway— 
at Wall Street, for instance, or near the City Hall Park.” 

“ This is bad enough ! ” cried Winifred. “ You feel as 
if some of the horses must step on you.” 

However, we got safely across, with the aid of a tall 
policeman, who piloted us through the crowd, putting up an 
authoritative hand to stop a horse here, or signing to a driver 
there to give place. We entered the florist’s shop. It was 
like going from winter to a lovely spring day. The fragrance 
from the many flowers was exquisite but almost overpowering. 
Masses of roses, of carnations, of chrysanthemums were there 
in the rarest profusion ; flowering plants, palms, costly exotics, 
made the place seem like some tropical garden under Southern 
skies. The sight of the violets brought the tears to Winifred’s 
eyes : they reminded her of her home beyond the sea. But 
when she heard the price of them she was amazed. 

“ Why, we get them for nothing in the Dargle — as many 
as we want — coming on the spring,” she whispered. “ Don’t 
give so much money for them.” 

She persisted so much in the idea that it would be fearful 


154 


WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING . 


to waste money on flowers which might be had at home for 
nothing, that I bought her roses instead. I made her select 
a bunch for herself from the mass. She was charmed with 
their variety of color, varying from the pale yellow of the 
tea-rose to the deepest crimson. We recrossed the street, and 
I made her go back to the hotel with the roses, so that they 
might keep fresh in water. When she came down again to 
where I was waiting on the sidewalk, I said: 

“ Now there is going to be a circus procession on Fifth 
Avenue. It is just about time for it; so we will go round 
the corner and see it.” 

“ What is a circus procession ? ” she inquired gravely. 

“ You shall see for yourself in a few minutes,” I answered 
briefly. 

We went across Twenty-ninth Street to Fifth Avenue, and 
stationed ourselves on a high brownstone stoop, which, 
fortunately for us, was not yet crowded. All along the 
streets people were waiting in serried rows. Small boys were 
mounted on trees, calling out jeering exclamations to those 
below ; fruit venders and venders of peanuts elbowed their 
way about, or stood on corners with furnaces aglow for the 
roasting of chestnuts. It was a busy, animated scene; while 
the cheerful laughter and the shrill, gleeful voices of the 
children added to the general mirth. 

Presently the arrival of the procession was announced by 
the small boys and the blowing of a bugle by a man on 
horseback. The first to appear was a train of magnificent 
horses, some with Arab riders, some controlled by wonder- 
fully dexterous women. Next in order was a beautiful lady, 
clad in a gorgeous, bespangled costume, seated in a gilt 
chariot and driving with the utmost skill six snow-white 
horses. 


WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 


155 


“A gold carriage ! ” whispered Winifred, awestricken. 
“Oh, if Barney and Moira could only see that!” 

“All is not gold that glitters,” I replied promptly. “ But 
the white horses are certainly beautiful.” 

“ Oh, what are these ? ” she asked. 

I looked. It was the camels that had attracted the child’s 
attention. Their appearance so astonished and amused her 
that she went off into peals of merry laughter, which caused 
many a responsive smile around us. 

“ What funny things you have in America ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ Just see how these things walk and the queer 
men on their backs.” 

“ The animals are called camels,” I said ; “ and their 
drivers are supposed to be Arabs from the desert.” 

“ Oh, I have studied about the camels and the deserts ! ” 
Winifred said, and she looked at them with new interest. 

Her astonishment reached its climax when she saw the 
elephants. 

“ What are they at all ? ” she cried, gazing at their enorm- 
ous bulk with startled eyes, as they slowly plodded on. Her 
glance wandered from their trunks to their great legs and 
huge sides. I told her what they were, and I think her 
studies had supplied her with some information about them 
and the ivory which is obtained from their tusks. 

She was charmed with the monkeys. 

“ I’m sure they’re little old men,” she said — “just like 
those Niall used to tell about, who were shut up in the hills.” 

She was never tired of watching their antics, and only 
regretted when they were out of sight. Two or three of 
them were mounted on tiny ponies ; and, to Winifred’s great 
glee, one tumbled ignominiously off and had to be picked up 
out of the mud by an attendant. 


WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 


156 

“ What’s coming now ? ” she cried, as one of the vans 
containing a lion hove into sight. The great beast lay tranquil 
and unmoved, gazing at the passers-by with that air of 
nobility which always belongs to his species. - His appearance 
seemed to fascinate my companion and she gazed at him very 
earnestly. 

“ That is a lion,” I remarked. 

“ Oh, the king of the forest ! ” put in Winifred. “ He 
looks like a king.” 

“ A very fierce one at times,” I replied. “ But that next 
is a tiger — a far more cruel and treacherous beast.” 

“ I don’t like him,” said Winifred, decisively ; “ although 
he is something like a big, big cat, only for the stripes on his 
back.” 

The leopards next passed by, fidgeting up and down the 
cage, with their spotted coats glittering in the sun. Hyenas, 
wolves, foxes, jackals, passed in quick succession, giving place 
at last to a giraffe. I pointed this animal out to Winifred. 

“ He has a long, long neck,” she observed ; “ he looks as 
if he had stretched it out so far that he couldn’t get it back 
again.” 

The doings of the clown, I think, puzzled more than they 
amused Winifred. 

“ Is he a man or another kind of animal ? ” she asked me 
gravely. She was not at all sure what kind of being he 
was, or why he should be so dressed up and act in such a 
manner. I told her that it was to amuse people. 

“ But he isn’t half so funny as the monkeys,” she declared, 
contemptuously. “ Why, you never told me that there were 
such wonderful things in America ! ” 

“ Tm sure I never thought of it,” I replied, laughing. 
“ But I am glad you have seen the circus. It is quite an 


WINIFRED GOES SIGHT-SEEING. 


157 


education in natural history. Now you will know an elephant 
from a giraffe, a lion from a tiger, a camel from a zebra, and 
a monkey from a fox. But, dear, we must hurry on and see 
what sight-seeing we can do. I declare it is almost noon 
already.” 

Presently, indeed, we heard the shrill sound of many 
whistles and the ringing of more than one bell. 

Winifred put her hands to her ears. 

“ What a noise ! ” she cried ; and she laughed merrily as 
she did so, her feet fairly dancing over the pavement in the 
pleasant sunlight of that winter day. And so we pursued our 
way up Fifth Avenue, with its rows of imposing brownstone 
houses, toward the cathedral, which was our destination. 


158 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


CHAPTER XX. 

ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Coming to the cathedral, where it stands on the corner 
of Fiftieth Street and Fifth Avenue, we stopped to observe 
its proportions, at once noble and graceful, its white marble 
faqade and tall spires being one of the ornaments of the 
Empire City. Entering the edifice, we knelt a while in prayer 
before we began to examine all its beauties in detail. The 
rich glow of the beautiful stained windows was a revelation 
to the child, and the stories which they tell of saints and 
martyrs appealed to her strongly. She watched their varied 
tints falling upon the marble altars with a visible delight. 

“ I must write a letter about this to Father Owen,” she 
said as we came out again upon the dignified bustle of Fifth 
Avenue, so unlike the activity of Broadway, but still notice- 
able after the quiet of the great temple. “ It is all so grand 
in there ! ” she said — “grand as our own mountains and beau- 
tiful as the Dargle. It reminded me of heaven. Perhaps 
heaven is something like that.” 

I smiled and did not contradict her; for the calm and 
repose of a great cathedral is very far removed indeed from 
earth. 

“ Of course there are several other churches I want you 
to see,” I observed ; “ but perhaps that one will do now. As 
we had breakfast late, and are not in a particular hurry for 
our luncheon, I think we will take a trip in an elevated car 
first.” 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


i59 


Winifred, of course, consented eagerly; and, having pro- 
cured the child a cup of hot bouillon at a druggist’s as a 
preventive against hunger, we climbed up the great iron stairs 
of the elevated station at Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue, 
and were soon seated in the car. 

It seemed very wonderful to Winifred that we should be 
flying through the air at such a rate of speed; but she was 
delighted with the swift motion and had no thought of fear. 
She keept looking in with eager curiosity at the houses 
or the shops as we passed by their second- or third-story 
windows, and down at the pigmy-like people on the sidewalk, 
making continual exclamations of wonder or interest. 

We got out at the Battery; and before taking the East 
Side car up town I let Winifred take a run in Battery Park, 
so that she might have a glimpse of the bay and the huge 
ferry-boats landing their loads of passengers, and the funnels 
of the steamers or the masts of tall vessels in the offing. 

“Across all that water,” she cried, stretching out her arms 
with a pretty and graceful gesture, “ is my home — my dear 
hills, the Dargle, and the people that I love ! ” 

She sniffed the salt air as though it were wine ; and 
ran about in the alleys, gazing longingly at the green grass, 
while I sat upon a bench and waited. At last I reminded her 
that time was flying, and that she would be a very hungry 
little girl by the time we made our trip up the East Side of 
the city and got down again to luncheon. 

We were soon seated in a Third Avenue elevated car 
and passed up Chatham Square and the Bowery — that great 
thoroughfare, where such curious people congregate; where 
the very shops have a different air, and the oyster-saloons and 
other places of refreshment seem to revel in strange sign- 
boards and queerly- worded advertisements. The Jews are 


i6o 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


there in large numbers, as also Syrians, Chinese, and other 
Orientals, so that it has a strange and foreign air. 

It all amused and interested Winifred, and she called my 
attention every now and again to some grotesque figure on 
the sign-boards or to some poster on the wall. I pointed out 
to the child Stuyvesant Park and Union Square Park as 
a rest to the eyes tired with so much sight-seeing. Then we 
jogged up the uninteresting and uninviting Third Avenue till 
finally we were in the vicinity of Harlem Bridge and away up 
in the open country, past Harlem and Mott Haven, and well 
up toward High Bridge itself. 

At last I called a halt, and we alighted and began the 
descent again. I resolved to take the little girl to luncheon 
at the Waldorf as a special treat, so that she might see modern 
luxury, so far as hotels are concerned, at its height. We sat 
in the Empire dining-room, with the imperial eagle of the 
great Napoleon on our chair-backs and a large bunch of 
fragrant pink roses on the table before us. Our soup was 
brought in small silver bowls, which reminded Winifred of 
Niall’s treasures. She much enjoyed the very choice and 
daintily served luncheon which I ordered for her, particularly 
the sweet course and the dessert. An orchestra was playing 
all the time of luncheon, changing briskly from grave to gay ; 
and its strains helped to make the whole scene dreamlike and 
unreal to the child of Nature, accustomed only to the glory 
of the hills. 

Other wonders awaited her: the cafe , with its ever-blos- 
soming trees, and the goldfish swimming in its ponds; the 
onyx stairway, and the Louis Quinze salon, with its inlaid 
cabinets, its brocaded furniture, and above all its gilt piano. 
This last object seemed to cap the climax of splendor in Wini- 
fred’s eyes. I think, indeed, that very modern hotel seemed 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 161 

to her a page from the Arabian Nights — some Aladdin’s palace 
which the genii had built up. She was very pleased, too, 
with the private dining-room upstairs, where the turning on 
of the electric light showed such a display of china of all 
sorts. 

When we were tired of exploring, and had, in fact, seen 
all that was really worth the trouble or that was open to the 
public, I sat down at a table in the Turkish parlor to write 
a note, bidding Winifred rest a while. She coiled herself up 
in one of the great armchairs, keeping so still that I almost 
thought she had gone to sleep. 

The rugs in that room are very soft and the draperies 
ample, and sound is very much deadened, so that I did not 
perceive any one coming in. Looking up suddenly from my 
writing, I was surprised to see Roderick O’Byrne. I grew 
pale and red by turns; my heart sank within me and I could 
not meet his glance. I thought of Niall, his anger, his threats, 
my own promises. Yet what was I to do in such a situation? 
Unconscious, of course, of the tumult he had raised in my 
mind, Roderick came directly toward me, making a few in- 
different remarks on the weather, the last political event, the 
hotel. Finally he asked, abruptly: 

“ By the way, do I remember aright, that you said you 
were in Wicklow during your recent trip to Ireland ? ” 

“ Yes — no ! ” I cried, confused. “ Oh, yes, of course I 
was there ! ” 

He looked at me in some surprise; then he asked again: 
• “ Of course you saw the Sugar Loaf Mountains, as the 
Sassenach call them, but which we Celts loved to name the 
Gilt Spurs ? ” 

“ Of course,” I assented, more uneasily than ever ; for I 
heard a movement in the chair. 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING . 


162 

“The Dargle goes without saying,” he continued. 

Another rustle in the chair. 

“ But I am not going to put. you through a catechism on 
Irish local scenery,” Roderick said, with a laugh ; “ I am 
almost sure you told me that you knew Father Owen Farley/ 

“ Oh, my dear, dear Father Owen ! ” cried Winifred from 
the depth of her chair. The mention of that beloved name 
had aroused her from the spell of shyness, or some other 
cause, which had hitherto kept her silent. 

Roderick turned quickly, and at the same moment Wini- 
fred stood up and faced him. There they were together, 
father and daughter, as any one could see at a glance. 

“Do you know Father Owen, sir?” the child asked; and 
at her voice Roderick started. He did not answer her question, 
but, gazing at her intently, asked instead : 

“Who are you, child ? ” 

Something in the question abashed or offended Winifred ; 
for she drew her little figure to its highest and replied not 
a word. 

Roderick smiled involuntarily at the movement; and I, 
stepping forward, interposed myself between the father and 
daughter and drew the child away. 

“ Come ! ” I said : “ we are in a hurry.” And, with a 
bow and a few muttered words of farewell, I hastened out 
of the room ; and, rushing from the hotel as if a plague had 
suddenly broken out there, I almost ran with the wondering 
Winifred to Broadway, where we took a cable car as the 
safest and speediest means of leaving that vicinity behind us. 
I had left the note which I was writing on the table; but, 
fortunately, I had sealed and stamped it, intending to put it 
in the mail-box in the hall. I was sure it would be posted, 
and gave myself no further concern about it. 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING . 163 

I knew Roderick would come to me sooner or later for 
an explanation of that strange scene — the presence there of 
the child and my own singular conduct. His impetuous 
nature would give him no rest till he had cleared up that 
mystery. But at least the child should be safe back in the 
convent before I saw him ; and I could then refuse to answer 
any questions, or take any course I thought proper, without 
fear of interference on the part of Winifred. 

“We shall go on up to the Park,” I said to the child ; for I 
had some fear that Roderick might come straight to my hotel. 

Winifred made no answer, and we took the car to Fifty- 
ninth Street, where we got out and were soon strolling through 
the broad alleys, thronged with carriages ; or the quieter foot- 
paths of that splendid Central Park, justly the pride of New 
Yorkers. 

“ Why are you afraid of that gentleman ? ” Winifred asked 
me in her abrupt fashion as I led her by a secluded path 
to show her a statue of Auld Lang Syne which had always 
appealed to me. 

“ I am not afraid of him, dear.” 

“ But why are you trembling, and why did you run away ? ” 
she asked again. 

“ Because it was time for us to go. I still have much to 
show you.” 

“ I like that gentleman,” she said. 

“ Do you ? ” I cried impulsively. “ I am so glad ! Go on 
liking him just as much as ever you can.” 

She did not seem so much surprised at this statement and 
at my apparent inconsistency as a grown person would have 
been ; but she went on : 

“ Only I thought it was rather rude of him to question me 
like that.” 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


164 

“ He did not mean it for rudeness.” 

“ No, I suppose not/’ the child said slowly. “ I’m sorry 
you took me away so quickly. I would like to have talked to 
him. He reminded me of Niall.” 

“ Of Niall ! ” I repeated in amazement. 

“ Yes,” she answered. “ Of course he hasn’t gray hair 
and he doesn’t wear the same kind of clothes that Niall does, 
but it’s his face.” 

I remembered how the same thought had on one occasion 
occurred to me. 

“ Then I think he knew my dear Father Owen,” the child 
continued. “I wonder how he knew him? Father Owen 
never came to America.” 

“ Perhaps he heard of him,” I suggested ; for I was not 
anxious that her curiosity in the subject should be too keenly 
aroused. I tried to divert her mind by showing her various 
monuments and busts of celebrated people as we went, and 
at last we stood before the stone group of Auld Lang Syne. 
It is so natural, so easy, so lifelike that one would think it 
represented three old men, boon companions, whom we had 
known. The very buttons on their surtouts, the smile upon 
their faces, are to the life. Winifred stood by, smiling re- 
sponsively, while I recited to her the familiar lines of that 
homely ballad which has found an echo in every land. 

We could not see everything in the Park that day, espe- 
cially as we began to feel tired. So, leaving the rest for a 
future occasion, we returned home again and had a rest be- 
fore dinner. The gaily-lighted dining-room, the well-dressed 
guests, were a new source of pleasure to Winifred ; but every 
once in a while her thoughts reverted to the dark gentleman. 
I was haunted by a fear that he would come that very evening 
for fin explanation, and I did not linger either in the hotel 


ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


165 


parlors or the corridor. But the evening wore away and there 
was no sign of him. I took Winifred out to show her a 
little of New York by gaslight, and to- lay in a stock of 
chocolates and other sweets for her to take back with her 
on the morrow. 

Next day, faithful to promise, I brought her back to 
school, where I left her somewhat depressed and despondent, 
as the returning pupil is apt to be for a day or two. Then 
I set myself to await Roderick’s visit with what heart I 
might. 


1 66 


A MYSTERY SOLVED. 


CHAPTER XXL 

A MYSTERY SOLVED. 

When Winifred had returned to the convent, I waited 
patiently for Roderick’s coming, which I knew could not be 
long delayed. Indeed, before the week was out his card was 
brought to me where I sat at my sitting-room fire. I glanced 
up at him as he entered the room. His face was grave, even 
stern in its expression, reminding me forcibly of Niall. After 
the ordinary salutations had been exchanged, he stood before 
me silent a moment; then he said, with an abruptness quite 
foreign to his manner: 

“ I think you will agree with me that this is no time for 
commonplaces. I have come to know the meaning of this 
mystery.” 

“ Mystery ! ” I repeated vaguely ; for, with all my planning 
and thinking what I should say when he came, I was still 
hopelessly at a loss, and resolved to be guided by the event. 

“ Yes, mystery,” he declared emphatically. “ I saw in your 
company the very child of whom I told you I had had a glimpse 
and whom I was so eager to see again.” 

“ But how could I know that the child with me was the 
one who had attracted your attention ? ” 

“ Well, in the first place,” he answered, looking at me 
keenly, “ I gave you a tolerably accurate description of the 
girl in question. The type is not a very common one, and 
might, I think be easily recognized.” 


A MYSTERY SOLVED . 


167 


He paused ; and I remaining silent, he went on again : 

“I hope you will not consider it rude if I say that I think 
you did know it was the child I was in search of. ,, 

“ And why ? ” I asked, still with a mere helpless idea of 
gaining time. 

“ Because of your manner and your course of action the 
other day in the parlor of the Waldorf. I saw at once that, 
for some reason or another, you were disturbed at my presence 
there. When the girl spoke and thus attracted my attention, 
you were distressed ; and while I was in the act of addressing 
her you seized her by the hand and fled from the hotel.” 
(An irrepressible smile came over his face at the recollection.) 
“ You left in such haste that you forgot the letter you had 
been writing. However, I posted that for you. And you went 
along Thirty-third Street, I should be afraid to say at what 
rate of speed. Did you suppose I was going to pursue you 
and forcibly wrest away the child ? ” 

I could not help laughing in sympathy at the drollery 
which shone out through the anxiety of his face, like sunshine 
from a cloud. 

“ Well, not exactly,” I observed ; “ but, truth to tell, I had 
no desire to hold any conversation with you just then. And, 
besides, I was in a hurry.” 

“ Oh, you were in a hurry — there was no possible doubt 
about that ! ” he assented, still laughing. 

“ Will you not sit down?” I inquired. “You look so 
very unsociable standing, and the night is cold enough to 
make this fire agreeable.” 

He took the chair I indicated, but he did not turn from the 
subject. 

“ May I ask,” he resumed, “ if the child whom I saw on 
that occasion is here with you ? ” 


1 68 


A MYSTERY SOLVED. 


“ She is not,” I responded briefly, elated that I could do 
so truthfully. 

“Where is she?” 

“ That I can not tell.” 

“Can not tell !” he repeated musingly. “Surely that is a very 
strange answer. Perhaps, at least, you will tell me who she is ?” 

“ I am not at liberty to tell that either,” I replied firmly. 

“ Mystery on mystery ! ” he cried, with an impatient ges- 
ture. “ What in the name of common-sense — if you will for- 
give my bluntness — is the purpose of this mystification ? ” 

“ The mystification arises,” I declared, “ from the fact that 
I am solemnly pledged to keep both her identity and her where- 
abouts a secret.” 

“From whom?” 

The question was a shrewd one. I hesitated how to answer 
it ; but at last I said : 

“ From all inquirers.” 

“ Are there likely to be many ? ” he asked, quizzically. 

“ That I can not say.” 

Roderick lay back in his chair and pondered, keeping his 
eyes fixed upon my face. 

“ Under ordinary circumstances,” he said, after a pause, 
“ I should, of course, respect your desire for secrecy and say 
no more about the matter. But there are reasons which make 
the identity of this child of vital interest to me.” 

I could not answer: there was now nothing I could say 
without revealing the secret I was pledged to keep. 

“ You will pardon me for saying further that I strongly 
suspect I am the person toward whom you are pledged to 
maintain this secrecy.” 

“ You ! ” I repeated. “ Why, surely you are in a singular 
mood to-night, full of fancies and suspicions ! ” 


A MYSTERY SOLVED. 169 

“ For which I have good and sufficient reasons. Are yours 
equally so for maintaining this secrecy ? ” 

“ I believe that they are,” I replied gravely. 

He rose and paced the floor a while. Then he sat down 
again, and drew his chair nearer mine, as if impelled by some 
sudden resolve. 

“ Since you will not give me your confidence — ” he began. 

“ Since I can not,” I corrected quietly. 

“ Well, since you can not or will not, I shall give you 
mine instead, and open for your inspection a page of my life 
which I fancied was closed forever.” 

He paused, and an expression so sad and troubled crossed 
his face that, in my deep pity, I almost regretted my promise 
to Niall. 

“ I was brought up,” he went on, “ in the neighborhood 
of the Dargle. That beautiful glen and stream were alike 
familiar to me. I inhabited an old family mansion, which, to 
say the least, stood sadly in need of repair. I was under the 
guardianship of a kinsman who, though eccentric, was of 
sterling worth.” 

There was a touch of emotion in his voice, as he thus 
referred to Niall, which pleased me. 

“ When I was about twenty-three we had a serious dif- 
ference of opinion, which arose in part from my marriage. 
For at that time I married a very beautiful girl, who lived 
only a few years, and left one child — a girl.” 

He hurried over this part of the story, which seemed 
deeply painful to him. 

“ It is always unpleasant to go into family affairs, but my 
relations with my wife’s family were such that I removed the 
child from their influence and took her back to the old dwel- 
ling. There I placed her in charge of an old woman who 


i;o 


A MYSTERY SOLVED. 


had been my nurse. I refused to accept any of my wife’s 
money, even for the maintenance of the child ; and, my own 
circumstances being not of the best, I came to America. I 
had but one object in view — to make money, that I might 
return, claim my child and restore the old dwelling of my 
fathers to something of its former state.” 

Again there was a long, troubled pause; and I did not 
interrupt him by so much as a word, nor did I give any sign 
that some of his story was already familiar to me. When 
he resumed it was in a different tone. His face was drawn 
and haggard, his voice tremulous: 

“ For some time I sent the half-yearly remittance faith- 
fully to my little Winifred, and I was happy in so doing. 
Then I received a. letter — from whom precisely I know not, 
though I believe it purported to be from a priest. It was 
written in the third person and it simply informed me that 
my child was dead.” 

“ Dead ! ” I exclaimed — “dead ! How cruel ! — how — ” 

I was about to say untrue, but I checked myself in time. 
Roderick glanced quickly toward me but said nothing. 

“ It was indeed a cruel blow,” he resumed at last ; “ and 
after that I gave up all desire to see Ireland again. I drifted 
on here, doing whatever good I could and working still, but 
with little personal hope or interest to cheer me in my labors.” 

His weary, despondent tone went to my heart, which was 
beating just then with exultation; for I was truly rejoiced 
to know that Winifred’s father was worthy of her, that poor 
Niall’s dreams might one day come true — at least in so far 
as seeing the reunion of father and child, with Roderick’s 
return to the home of his youth. I resolved to write to Niall 
without delay, tell him of what I had discovered and obtain 
his permission to reveal all to Roderick. In the meantime, 


A MYSTERY SOLVED . 


171 

however, I must, of course, be true to my promise and give 
Roderick no hint of the knowledge I possessed. 

“ And you never found out from whom that letter came ? ” 
I inquired. 

“Never: there was no means of finding out. Father Owen 
was at that time absent in Rome. I presumed it was from 
the priest who had replaced him. I wrote to him ; the letter 
followed him to a distant parish in a remote part of Ireland, 
whither he had already returned. He had never written to 
me, he replied, and had no knowledge of the matter at all. 
I wrote to Granny Meehan, the woman who had charge of 
Winifred. She never answered. I suppose on the death of 
the child she had wandered away. I then sent a letter to 
Niall, the eccentric kinsman to whom I before referred. He, 
I suppose, was either dead or away on some of his wander- 
ings.” 

“ Your story is indeed a sad one,” I put in, grieved that 
I could do nothing to dispel his sorrow. I could not let 
him know that Granny Meehan was still faithful to her post, 
that Niall was still dreaming and planning for his welfare 
and for the restoration of the old place; and that, best of 
all, Winifred was still living and such a child as might de- 
light a father’s heart — in fact, that she was the child who had 
so deeply interested him already. Whether he suspected that 
such was the case or merely saw in her some chance re- 
semblance I could not yet tell. 

“ You may well say it is a sad story,” Roderick answered. 
“To me it seems all the more so that since the receipt of 
that letter which dashed all my hopes Fortune has smiled 
upon me. Everything I touch seems to turn to money. The 
novel, rejected before, has since been accepted, and has run 
through several editions ; articles from my pen are in demand 


172 


A MYSTERY SOLVED . 


by leading magazines ; all my speculations have turned out 
well, and my insurance business has prospered. It is the old, 
old story of Fortune coming too late.” 

I sat still, joyful, yet amazed; thinking within myself: 

“ How wonderful are the ways of Providence ! Niall’s 
dream of restoring the old place shall certainly be realized 
now. Father and child, reunited, shall dwell amongst those 
lovely scenes ; while the faithful hearts of Niall and Granny 
Meehan shall be filled with joy. How seldom does life work 
out events so happily ! ” 

“ Would you like to see the old place again ? ” I asked. 

“ What use now ? ” he cried. “ Some day I may take the 
journey to see if Niall be still amongst the living; but I shrink 
from that as yet.” 

We sat silent after that for some moments, I afraid to 
break the spell lest I should in any way betray the knowledge 
which so filled my heart. But presently Roderick roused him- 
self with the remark: 

“ That child whom I first saw in the carriage on Broadway, 
and whom I next saw in your company, has awakened a 
strange train of thought in my mind. I have even dared to 
hope that I have been the victim of a trick and that my child 
still lives. Her voice, when she spoke in the Waldorf parlor 
the other day, seemed as an echo of my vanished youth. It 
was the voice of my wife; and when the child rose from 
the chair and confronted me, for an instant I believed that 
the grave had given up its dead. It was my wife herself as 
I saw her first, many years before our marriage.” 

“ Resemblances are very delusive,” I said lamely. 

“ But was this resemblance delusive ? ” he asked, leaning 
forward and looking me in the face. 

“How can I answer? I never saw your wife,” I replied. 


A MYSTERY SOLVED . 


173 


It was an evasion, and perhaps he saw it; but he only 
sighed deeply. 

“ I had expected better things of you,” he went on ; “ for 
we are old enough friends that I might have looked to you 
for help in clearing up a mystery. As it is, you will not or 
can not; and I must drag on in the same weary, hapless 
fashion or follow out the clue for myself. Indeed, I trust 
you will think it no discourtesy when I tell you that I mast 
and will find out who this child is.” 

His resemblance to Niall was once more almost startling; 
though, needless to observe, there was no wildness nor violence 
of any sort in his manner. 

“I wish I were able to give you the information you de- 
sire,” I said formally. “ But at present it is impossible.” 

He rose to take his leave. 

“ In that case I must not intrude upon you any longer,” 
he answered coldly. “ I am afraid I have been thought- 
less in occupying so much of your time with my personal 
affairs.” 

I felt at that moment that a valued friendship of many 
years was endangered, but I could not be false to my trust. 
Niall must hear all, and then it would be for him to act. I 
held out my hand. Roderick took it but there was no warmth 
in the handshake; and as he disappeared down the corridor, 
I stood looking after him sadly, fully realizing that for the 
time being I had lost much in his estimation. Yet I hoped 
to be able to repair all and explain all in good time. 

I did not lose a moment in getting out my writing-desk 
and writing to Niall a full account of all that I had heard. 
My pen moved rapidly and joyfully over the page. I had 
so much to tell ! Roderick still true to his child, his kinsman, 
and his old home; Roderick having acquired wealth which 


174 


A MYSTERY SOLVED. 


he would be only too happy to spend in fulfilling the old 
man’s dream. I also wrote to Father Farley and begged him 
to let Granny Meehan know the good news as speedily as 
possible. How I wished that I could fly over the ocean and 
be myself the bearer of those good tidings ! I fancied the 
patient old face of Granny brightening, and the loving, tender 
voice giving forth thanks to her Creator. 

The scene rose so vividly before me that I sat back in 
my chair, with pen uplifted, to ponder it over. There was 
the hearth in the great kitchen, near which Granny Meehan sat. 
A fire was burning there — a clear peat fire; beside it the 
tranquil figure of the blind woman, with the cat, Brown 
Peter, purring against her dress; and Barney and Moira in 
the background, hanging about to hear the great news which 
good Father Owen had to tell. And I conjured up the fine 
face of the priest beaming with the glad tidings; and I 
seemed to hear once more his genial voice reading aloud the 
welcome letter from America. 

I returned to my task and wrote on, while the clock on 
my mantel tolled out eleven, and the din of the street below 
began to give place to the silence of night. I had a curious 
impression that Winifred stood beside me as I wrote, her 
image seemed so very vivid. I resolved to go to see her on 
the morrow, which was Thursday — visiting-day at the con- 
vent. But I knew it would be another trial to refrain from 
telling her of her father and of the mystery concerning him 
which had just been cleared up. My original intention of 
striving to kindle her affection and admiration for the father 
she scarcely remembered was strengthened by the knowledge 
I had gained. Knowing her father to be entirely worthy of 
her love and to be devotedly attached to her, I could with a 
clear conscience describe him as he really was, and clothe 


A MYSTERY SOLVED. 


175 


the phantom she remembered with the lovable attributes of 
the real man. 

My letters finished, I rang for a bell-boy, and had them 
posted at once ; for it seemed to me that they would never 
get over to Ireland, and that I would never have an answer 
back again. Then I stood for a moment at the window and 
looked out at the still brightly lighted streets, where the 
passers-by were fewer; though many still hurried to and fro 
from the theatres, concerts, or lectures — all intent on business 
or pleasure. Carriages swept by, cars with belated passengers 
in them still ran, and the hum of the great city was audible 
from afar even at that late hour. 


1 76 


AT THE CONVENT. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AT THE CONVENT. 

I went up to see Winifred next day, and, in the light of 
my new discoveries, to talk with her over past, present, and 
future. She came into the dimly-lighted convent parlor with 
something of her former brightness. Her little figure was 
particularly graceful and symmetrical in the somber black of 
the costume. An attempt had been made to brush her curls 
as smooth as the regulations required, but they still broke out 
mutinously; her eyes shone; while her complexion, though 
paler than before, was clear and healthful. All present in 
the parlor — for it was visiting-day — turned to look at her, 
and I heard more than one whispered inquiry concerning her 
in the groups that sat around. 

I inquired first about her school-life — her lessons and all 
those little details of convent life familiar to girls who have 
ever been at boarding-school. 

“ I am singing in the choir now,” she told me ; “ and I 
like that very much. Did you ever sing in a choir when you 
were little ? ” 

“ No,” I answered ; “ for the best of all reasons, that I 
had no voice.” 

“ Well, we practise a great deal,” she went on; “ and that 
is always nice. I think my voice sounded best on the hills. 
Do you remember when I used to sit on the tree over the 
Dargle? Well, I could raise my voice very high then.” 

“ I remember well,” I replied ; “ and those old ballads you 


AT THE CONVENT. 


1 77 


sang suited your voice. But I am glad you are getting inter- 
ested in the choir and in your singing lessons.” 

“ Yes, and some of my other lessons I like very much. 
And, then, we are to have a play, in which I am to take the 
part of an Indian.” 

“You ought to do that well,” I remarked, “because you 
have lived so much in the open air.” 

I thought as I spoke that she had indeed the free, wild 
grace of movement peculiar to the children of Nature. 

“ That’s what Sister said when she gave me the part,” 
Winifred assented. “ It is great fun being an Indian. I have 
to wear feathers on my head and some paint on my face, and 
a beaded skirt and a blanket embroidered with quills and 
things. Wouldn’t Barney and Moira stare if they saw me ! ” 

And she laughed at the picture she conjured up of their 
amazement. 

“ Granny Meehan would stare too, were it possible for 
her to see you,” I observed ; “ though that she could not do 
even if you stood before her.” 

“ Poor old Granny ! ” Winifred said softly. “ I wish I 
could see her. But there’s no use wishing.” 

And she dismissed the subject with that curiously unchild- 
like composure and self-control which I had often perceived 
in her. 

“ Winifred,” I finally asked, “ do you remember your father 
at all?” 

She looked startled, but answered: 

“ I suppose it was he who shut the door hard when the 
lady in yellow made him angry.” 

“ Yes,” I said : “ I suppose it was.” 

“ He was very dark,” Winifred went on, thoughtfully. 
“ I think it was the same one who took me away. He was 


i 7 8 


AT THE CONVENT. 


dressed all in black and he looked very sad. He took me 
by the hand and we went out of the house and through some 
streets, and then he put me before him on a horse and rode 
off. He was very kind and not at all angry that day.” 

“ They say he is living, Winifred my child,” I ventured. 
“Would you like to see him again?” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” she cried ; “ though perhaps he would be like 
a stranger; it is so very long ago.” 

“ Niall believes you will see him yet,” I continued ; “ so 
you ought to get accustomed to the idea. I used to know 
him, and he was noble and good and kind-hearted.” 

“ You never told me before that you knew him,” Winifred 
remarked, looking at me curiously. 

“And yet I did, and he was all that I have said,” I de- 
clared. 

“ But he does not care for me,” said Winifred suddenly, 
“or he would not have gone away and left me.” 

I was startled and at the same time touched by the deep 
sadness of her tone. 

“ Perhaps he thought you were dead,” I suggested. 

“ Thought I was dead ! ” repeated Winifred, in surprise. 

Then she burst into a peal of laughter. 

“ Winifred,” I cried, bending toward her, “ think that — 
think anything rather than that your father has forgotten you 
or does not care for you.” 

The tears came into her eyes, but she suddenly turned 
away from the subject, as she usually did when deeply moved 
— a habit which she had in common with her father. 

“You never saw my classroom, did you?” she inquired. 

I answered that I had not. 

“ Then I will ask if I may take you up to see it,” she said, 
darting away for the desired permission. 


AT THE CONVENT. 


179 


We went up the great, broad stairs and along the shining 
corridor to a room with a half glass door and a pair of broad, 
low windows. Within it were rows of desks familiar to all 
convent girls, and a desk for the teacher standing upon a 
raised platform. There was a small statue of the Sacred 
Heart and one of the Blessed Virgin resting upon brackets, 
with flowers before them; and a fine engraving or two of 
sacred subjects hung with the maps upon the walls. An im- 
mense blackboard occupied one side of the apartment. The 
room was empty as regarded occupants ; and Winifred, 
dancing across the floor to one of the desks which stood near 
the window, cried : 

“ This is mine ! ” 

I went and sat down on the chair, fastened securely to 
the floor, which looked out upon the wintry landscape. At 
that moment a bird came chirping and twittering about the 
window-sill, and cocking his bright little eye as he looked in 
at us through the pane. 

“ He comes very often/’ said Winifred, regarding the 
little brown object with a kindly glance. “ Sometimes I feed 
him with crumbs. He always reminds me of Father Owen’s 
robin far away over the sea, and I wonder if he will ever 
fly so far.” 

I laughed at the idea. 

“ Perhaps he may go and take a message to that other 
bird,” I suggested. 

“ Not until the spring, anyway,” Winifred answered 
gravely. “ But when I see him out there on cold, stormy 
days I think how Father Owen said that the robin did his 
work in storm or calm and tried to sing and be merry.” 

“And I suppose you try to imitate him?” I put in. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I think I do; but Pm not always merry 


180 AT THE CONVENE. 

in the storm, and my teacher tells me I’m too wayward and 
unstable: that I’m never two days the same.” 

I said nothing, and she went on : 

“All my life people have told me that I’m wayward. I 
used to be called Wayward Winifred. Perhaps it’s from liv- 
ing so much on the hills; for you know they change often. 
Sometimes they’re beautiful, with the sun shining like gold 
on their heads ; and again they’re dark and threatening.” 

“ Like Niall,” I added. 

“ Don’t say anything against Niall — O poor, poor Niall ! ” 
she interrupted, almost vehemently. 

“ Well, that is not exactly against him. But he is rather 
variable,” I declared. “ But now you are in a place where 
everything is the same day after day.” 

“ I found that hard at first,” Winifred said — “very hard ; 
but now I don’t mind so much. And I suppose if I stay long 
enough, I shall come to be always the same too.” 

Inwardly I doubted if such a result were possible, but I 
did not tell her that. I asked her to show me what was in 
her desk, and she began to take out, one by one, pencils, pens, 
colored crayons, exercise books, a slate, a pile of lesson books. 
She had also her beads and her prayer-book in there. The 
latter contained some very pretty lace pictures, given her bv 
her teachers as rewards of merit, on her birthday or some other 
festal occasion. One of the pictures, however, she took from 
between the leaves of the book and handed it to me. 

“ Do you remember the day Father Owen gave me that? ” 
she asked. 

“ Was that the one he told you to get out of his breviary? ” 
I inquired. 

“Yes,” answered Winifred; “and it was on the day that 
you told me you were going to bring me to America.” 


AT THE CONVENT. 


181 


“ Yes, it was that memorable day.” 

“ I hated you then — oh, so much ! ” cried Winifred ; “ and 
I thought I should always go on hating you, till we went 
into the church and Father Owen began to play the organ.” 

“ Music has charms,” I quoted, “ to soothe — well, I won’t 
say the savage breast, but the angry feelings of a certain little 
girl. I am very glad, though, that it had that result; for I 
should not have liked you to go on hating me. That would 
never have done; and I’m afraid in that case we should have 
had to give up our trip to America.” 

She had a mischievous look about the eyes, which made 
me say : 

“ Perhaps you think that wouldn’t have been so great a 
misfortune, after all, my Wayward Winifred ! ” 

She laughed merrily, and replied: 

“ Don’t think me ungrateful. I’m glad in some ways I 
came. ’Tis a wonderful country this America; and I have 
seen such beautiful, strange things.” 

“ Not the golden streets,” I observed ; “ nor the trees with 
gold leaves nor the birds with jewelled wings.” 

“ No,” she agreed ; “ I haven’t seen anything like that, 
and I know those stories weren’t true.” 

She sighed, as if for the dream that had vanished, and 
added : 

“ But I have seen so many beautiful things, and I am 
learning a great deal that I could never have learned with 
Granny and Niall.” 

Her shrewd child’s wit had reached this conclusion un- 
aided. 

“ And you have been so kind ; I am grateful, and I do 
love you.” 

She said this with such pretty fervor and yet with that 


182 


AT THE CONVENT. 


sweet condescension that always made me feel as if a little 
princess were addressing me. 

“You are getting to like the convent too?” I said. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” she cried ; “ it is so quiet and peaceful, like 
a church; and every one speaks nicely, and we hear so many 
things about God and our £>lessed Mother and the saints. 
I am interested in a lot of things I never knew before ; 
and my teachers are different from any people I ever knew 
before.” 

I was well satisfied ; and when we returned to the convent 
parlor I had a talk with the Religious who presided there, 
while Winifred went off to get her wraps — she having ob- 
tained permission to accompany me as far as the gate. The 
Religious gave a very good account of Winifred. She de- 
clared that her training had made her different from other 
girls, and somewhat wayward and hard to control by ordinary 
means. 

“ At first,” she said, “ the rule and the monotony of con- 
vent life seemed most irksome to her, as well as the indoor 
existence, accustomed as she had been in Ireland to spend 
nearly all her time in the open air.” 

I nodded assent. 

“ Being quite undisciplined, too,” she went on, “ she was 
inclined to a certain waywardness of character, which it was 
hard to fight against.” 

“ I can understand,” I agreed. 

“ She was a very independent young lady when she first 
came, I assure you,” the Religious said, smiling ; “ but, on 
the other hand, she is such a sweet, bright temperament, so 
wholesome, so generous, so innately refined — a thorough little 
lady. And she is so genuinely pious: nothing sentimental 
or overstrained in her devotion. She has the faith and fervor 


AT THE CONVENT . 183 

of her country. Altogether, her nature is one susceptible of 
the highest training. Her very faults are lovable.” 

“ I am so glad to hear you say all this ! ” I declared 
cordially ; “ for it fits in so well with the impression I had 
formed of her ; and, though I met her as a stranger last sum- 
mer, I have now the best of reasons for feeling a particular 
interest in her.” 

“ Her intelligence is quite remarkable,” went on the Re- 
ligious. “ Her mind is in some directions far in advance of 
her years, and she has really a fair share of education.” 

“You see she had for her teacher,” I observed, “an ec- 
centric but really learned kinsman.” 

“ That accounts for it ! And she has a good voice. Our 
music teachers are quite enthusiastic about it.” 

“ She has a voice of uncommon sweetness and power,” I 
assented. “ I heard her singing on the Irish hills. Altogether, 
I hope the best from her stay with you.” 

We were here interrupted by Winifred herself, who ap- 
peared in her hat and coat. She made a graceful curtsy to 
the teacher, and together we went out arm in arm, walking 
over the crisp snow which had fallen over night and which 
sparkled in the sunlight; and looking away into the distance, 
where the afternoon was beginning to darken and the gray 
sky to take on a warmer glow. When we reached the gate 
we stood still a few minutes, Winifred looking wistfully out, 
as though she would fain have gone with me. 

“ It will be study hour when I get back,” she told me ; 
“ and we have a lot of hard things for to-morrow. Did you 
find globes hard when you were at school?” 

“ Indeed I did,” I said, remembering my own bewildered 
flounderings about in that particular branch of study. 

“ Well, we have them, and ancient history and algebra — 


AT THE CONVENT. 


184 

oh, that awful algebra! — to-morrow. So I think I must be 
going.” 

“ Good-by ! ” I said ; “ and, Winifred, don’t forget to say 
a prayer sometimes for your father, that you may see him 
I again in this world, and both be happy together.” 

) “ I won’t forget ! ” Winifred promised. “ I always pray 

for my mother, who is dead.” 

“ That is right, dear ; but you must remember the living 
as well. And now good-by again ! ” 

“ I am going to run all the way back,” she announced. 

“Very well; I will stand and watch you. Now for the 
run ! Let us see how quick you can get up the avenue.” 

She was off like a deer darting to cover ; and it reminded 
me of the time when I had seen her running amongst the 
hills, springing lightly from peak to peak and almost horri- 
fying me by her reckless movements. 

“ I should like her to have had a few years at the convent,” 
I thought; “ the refined atmosphere there would be just what 
she needs to tone down her high spirits and give her the 
touches she requires. But I suppose when Niall hears all 
he will be too impatient for the reunion with those he loves 
to wait. Besides, it would be unjust to Roderick. I must 
•* explain everything to him as soon as I get Niall’s permission.” 

I pondered thus all the way to town, and wondered how 
soon I could hear from Ireland, and how I should pass the 
intervening time till my letters arrived. But in New York 
time flies, and the days seem all too short for the multitude 
of affairs; so that week followed week and ran into months 
before I realized that my letters remained unanswered. 


WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME. 


185 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME. 

Unhappily, the time went by without bringing any news 
of Niall, and the suspense became almost intolerable. I met 
Roderick O’Byrne once or twice; but he merely gave me a 
distant bow : I had no conversation with him whatever. 
Every morning I eagerly questioned the hotel clerk. The 
answer was always the same : “ No, there are no letters.” 

Then Christmas came. Winifred spent the holidays with 
me, though I was in constant fear that she should meet 
with Roderick. One evening at a concert I chanced to look 
toward a side of the hall where a few men were walking 
to and fro in the pauses of the music. One who stood near 
the wall attracted my attention. It was Roderick O’Byrne, 
and he had evidently caught sight of us, and stood now with 
his eyes intently fixed upon Winifred’s face. The remain- 
ing numbers on the programme fell on deaf ears, so far as 
I was concerned. I did not know what any one played or 
sang ; I could not tell a rondo from a caprice, or if the violinist 
was accompanied by a flute or a violoncello. I had but one 
desire — to get out of the hall and away. I kept my eyes 
upon the programme, avoiding another look. 

Presently Winifred touched my arm and whispered : 

“ Oh, see ! he is right over there — the gentleman we met 
at the hotel.” 

She watched him as if fascinated; and I saw that their 
eyes met, exchanging a long, long look. Before the concert 
was over I arose hurriedly, and, complaining of the heat, told 
Winifred we must go at once. To my relief, Roderick made 


1 86 


WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME. 


no movement to follow us. His fine courtesy prevented him 
from a course of action so obviously distressing to me. Next 
day, however, I got a note from him, in which he said: 

“ The chance meeting of yesterday evening has confirmed 
me more than ever in the belief that the child whom you 
choose to surround with so much mystery is in some way 
connected with my life. The sight of her renewed once 
more those memories of the past, and filled me with a hope — 
so strong, if delusive — that I was misinformed regarding the 
supposed death of my daughter. If this child be not my own 
Winifred, she must be in some way related to my late wife. 
I implore you, by our years of friendship, to end my suspense 
by telling me whatever you may know of the girl. You will 
be doing the greatest possible service to 
“ Your devoted friend, 

“ Roderick O’Byrne." 

I answered him at once as follows: 

“ I beg of you in turn, by our friendship, to wait. Give 
me a month or two, and I promise to relieve your suspense, 
or at least to give you such excellent reasons for my silence 
that you will no longer doubt the sincerity of my desire to 
serve you." 

The note posted, I persecuted the clerk more than ever 
by my inquiries for letters, and I grumbled and growled at 
Niall and at Father Owen. 

“ Why on earth couldn’t they answer, if it were only a 
line? What could they be thinking of? Didn’t they know I 
must be intolerably anxious ? ’’ 

This was the sum of my growling, and I continued it 
during all the Christmas holidays, when Winifred was with 
me; though, of course, I could say nothing to her. One 
afternoon, when I had been particularly anxious, I went out 


WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME. 


iS7 


with the child, spent a half hour at the cathedral, which was 
a daily haunt of mine, and then tried to control my feverish 
agitation by getting into a restless crowd of shoppers who 
thronged the department stores. 

Winifred was delighted. It was a new experience. She 
never could get over her wonder, though, at the number of 
people in New York city. 

“ Where do they all come from ? ” she cried ; “ and where 
do they live ? Are there houses enough for them all ? ” 

I assured her that most of them were housed, though 
there was a sad proportion of them homeless. I brought 
tears to her eyes with the account I gave her, as we passed 
on to the quieter Fifth Avenue, of the sufferings of the poor 
in all big cities. 

She talked on this subject most of the way home; and 
when I would have bought her some choice candies she 
begged me to give the money instead to the poor. This we 
did. I handed her the amount, with a little added thereto, 
and advised her to divide it amongst more than one. We 
met a blind man, and she gave him an alms; next was a 
miserable child, and after that a very old woman. 

“ There we have the Holy Family complete/’ I remarked ; 
and her face lighted up at the suggestion. 

“ There are so many poor people here ! ” she said. “ There 
were plenty of poor people in Ireland too ; but I don’t think 
they were quite as poor as these, and the neighbors always 
helped them.” 

“ The poverty of a great city is worse, I think,” I as- 
sented, “ than it ever is in country places.” 

“ Except in the famine times,” said Winifred. “ Oh, if 
you heard Niall tell about the famine in Ireland, and how 
some bad men and women went round trying to get the people 


188 WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME. 

who were starving to give up their religion, and they 
wouldn’t ! ” 

The child’s eyes shone and her whole face was aglow as 
she cried: 

“ Rather than give up their religion they died by the 
road eating grass. That was just splendid of them.” 

“ Always keep that fine enthusiasm and that tender heart, 
dear child,” said a voice. 

We both turned quickly. I had little need to do so, for 
I knew the voice. It was Roderick O’Byrne’s. Winifred 
looked into his face for a moment, then she held out her hand. 

“ I don’t often speak to strangers,” she declared, with 
her princess-like air, “ but I like you.” 

Roderick O’Byrne’s handsome face flushed, his lips parted 
eagerly as if to speak; but he restrained himself by a visible 
effort, and said after a pause: 

“ I hope some day you will like me better.” Then he 
turned to me, still holding Winifred’s hand in his own strong 
brown one. “ Do not be afraid : I am not going to steal the 
little one away, and I am going to be patient and wait. But 
I was walking behind you and I heard the sweet voice — the 
voice so like one I loved very dearly in other days — -and it 
was too hard to resist: I had to speak.” 

His voice took on that tone, half boyish, half pleading; 
and I felt compelled to say: 

“If you are not patient, I will have to spirit my little 
one away from New York.” 

“ Oh, don’t do that ! ” he cried. “ Let me see her some- 
times — let me hear her voice, and I won’t ask a question. 
See, I haven’t even asked her name.” 

He had come round to my side, dropping his voice to an 
earnest whisper. But the child caught the last words. 


WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME . 


189 


“ My name is Winifred,” she said in answer to them. 

“ Good heavens ! ” exclaimed Roderick, turning deadly 
pale ; while I, seizing the child firmly by the hand, turned a 
corner abruptly and hastened into Broadway, where, as be- 
fore on a similar oocasion, I took a cable car. 

“ And yet I have tried to be true to my trust,” I repeated 
over and over to myself. “At the. risk of losing Roderick’s 
friendship, I have refused to answer any questions.” 

“ Oh, why did you go and leave the gentleman like that? ” 
asked Winifred, imperiously, as soon as we entered our rooms 
at the hotel. “ It’s a shame — I tell you it’s a shame ! ” And 
she stamped her little foot on the carpet. 

“Winifred!” I said severely. “You must be careful!” 

“ I don’t care ! ” she cried. “ I won’t be good any more. 
It was very impolite to run away from that gentleman; and 
I wanted to talk to him, because I think I knew him once, 
or perhaps only dreamed about him.” 

I saw now that the denouement was coming nearer and 
nearer. The matter was indeed being taken out of my hands. 
I determined, however, that I would be true to Niall; and 
that if some news did not soon come from Ireland, I should 
remove the child from New York and go with her, perhaps, 
to Canada. I rejoiced that the holidays were over and that 
to-morrow Winifred must return to school. 

“ It may not be for long,” I warned her ; “ and then you 
may regret the advantages you have had here. You see, 
Niall may get too lonesome and send for you any time.” 

“ I would love to see him and Granny and Father Owen 
and the others ! ” she exclaimed. “ But if we went away 
to Ireland, I would like the dark gentleman to come too. 
Perhaps he would if you asked him.” 

“Everything will come right, I hope,” I answered, evas- 


190 


WINIFRED TELLS HER NAME. 


ively. “ And I am very glad you like the dark gentleman, 
because you may see him very often when you are older/’ 

“ Do you think so ? ” she asked eagerly. “ Oh, I shall like 
that ! But are you perfectly sure of it ? ” 

“ I am almost sure of it,” I replied ; and then, telling 
her that the bell was about to ring for the departure ' of 
visitors, I hurried away, for fear she might begin to question 
me too closely. 

After that I had many lonely days of anxious waiting as 
the winter sped drearily away. February and then March 
drew their slow lengths along, and my letters were still un- 
answered. April was ushered in, more changeable than ever; 
mornings of sunshine being followed by afternoons of rain, 
and days of almost midsummer heat giving place to the chil- 
liest of evenings. 

One day I was sitting in my room at the hotel, em- 
broidering a little, and disconsolately watching the throng on 
Broadway, when there came a knock at my door. A bell-boy 
entered with two letters upon a salver. My heart gave a 
great throb as I seized them, recognizing on both the Irish 
postmark. Broadway, with its throng of people, faded from 
before me ; and I held the two letters in my hand — reading 
the address, now on one, now on the other, and putting off 
the moment of opening them; for I felt a curious dread. 
Suppose Niall should hold me to my promise or sternly com- 
mand me to bring Winifred forthwith back to Ireland with- 
out even revealing her identity to Roderick? At last I broke 
the seal of one of the letters with a hand that trembled. I 
had to control a nervous agitation, which almost prevented 
me from seeing the characters before me, as with a pale face, 
I began to read. 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


191 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

LETTERS AT LAST. 

The letter I had opened was, I knew, from Niall. I re- 
membered the strange, crabbed characters, almost resembling 
Arabic, in which he had written my letter of instruction. 

“ The hills of Wicklow,” he began, “ are streaming with 
sunlight. Their spurs are all golden, and the streams are 
rushing in great gladness, for they are full of joy. They 
have been freed from the bondage of winter. 

“ There is joy in the hills. It is sounding in my ears and 
in my heart. Words I dare not speak, daughter of the 
stranger ! I can not put on paper the thoughts that are burn- 
ing in my brain. You have found him, the beloved wanderer; 
and you have discovered that his heart has never wandered 
from us. I knew before now that he was not to blame; and 
of that I shall tell you some day, but not now. 

“ Had I wings, I would fly to Roderick and to my beautiful 
little lady. I love him, I love her. My heart has been seared 
by her absence. Until your letter came, the hills spoke a 
strange, new language, and I have heard no human speech. 
When your letter reached the village, I was up at my cabin 
in the hills, unconscious of good or evil, burning with fever. 
The good Samaritan found me out; who he is you can guess. 
It was long, long before my senses came back ; and he would 
not read me your letter until I had grown strong. When I 
heard its contents, I feared even then that my brain would 


192 


LETTERS AT LAST . 


turn. For two days I roamed the mountains. I fled to my 
cavern of the Phoul-a-Phooka for greater solitude. I could 
not speak of my joy — I dared not think of it. 

“ And now, O daughter of the stranger, heaven-sent from 
that land afar ! bring her back to my heart, lest it break 
with the joy of this knowledge, and with sorrow that the 
sea still divides me from her, and that other equally beloved. 
Oh, what matters education now ! Let the beautiful grow 
as the flowers grow, as the trees shoot up, clothed in beauty. 

“ Come now in all haste ; and tell Roderick that on my 
knees I implore him to come too, that I may reveal all. Bid 
him hasten to Niall, the forlorn.” 

He broke off abruptly, with some words in Irish, which, 
of course, I did not understand. My own head was swim- 
ming; a great joy surged up in my heart, and I could almost 
have echoed Niall’s wild rhapsody. When should I see poor 
Roderick and tell him — what? I had not yet made up my 
mind as to how I should fulfil that delightful task. However, 
I would write to him that very day and bid him come to hear 
the glad news. 

I took up the other letter, which was, I doubted not, from 
Father Owen. Of course he could add nothing to my great 
happiness; still, it would be of the deepest interest to hear 
every detail relating to this matter of paramount importance. 
The letter was just as characteristic as Niall’s had been; 
and I seemed to see the priest’s genial face lighted up with 
pleasure, as he wrote, and to hear his kindly voice. 

“ Laus Deo!” began the letter. “What words of joy or 
praise can I find to express my own sentiments and those of 
the faithful hearts whose long years of waiting have been at 
last rewarded ! I took your letter to Mrs. Meehan, and I had 
to use diplomacy — though that was a lost art with me, so 


LETTERS AT LAST . 


193 


simple are my people and my duties — for fear the shock might 
be too great. But I don’t think joy ever kills. I wish you 
could have seen her face — so tranquil, so trusting, illumined 
with the light of happiness. You can imagine the outburst 
of her praise rising up to the Creator, clear and strong as a 
lark’s at morning. Barney and Moira were only restrained 
by my presence from cutting capers, and at last I said to 
them : ‘ Go out there now, Barney, my man, and you too, 
Moira, my colleen, and dance a jig in the courtyard; for I 
am pretty sure your legs won’t keep still much longer/ 

“ And nO\v of poor Niall ! When your letter came I went 
in search of him. No one had seen him for a good while, 
and it was supposed he had gone off on some of his wander- 
ings. None of the people would venture near his cabin, so 
I took my stick in my hand, and went there with the letter. 
I found the poor fellow in a sad plight — alone, burning with 
fever, delirious, and going over all kinds of queer scenes in 
his raving : now crying for ‘gold, gold, gold !’ or giving heart- 
piercing cries for Winifred. Again, he would be back in the 
past, with Roderick, a boy, at his side. 

“ Well, there was no one to take care of the creature ; 
and, as it fitted in with my day’s work, I took care of him 
myself. His gratitude, when he came to consciousness, was 
touching; and yet I had only followed the plainest dictates 
of humanity. When T thought my patient was strong enough, 
I read the letter to him. Bless my soul ! it was like a whirl- 
wind. He nearly took the breath out of me, rushing from 
the cabin in a kind of madness, and leaving me sitting there 
staring at the door by which he had gone. I did not see him 
for more than a week, and I assure you I was anxious. I 
was afraid he had lost his mind through excess of joy. 

“To make a long story short, when he did come back 


194 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


again I got hold of him entirely. Joy seems to have changed 
his nature as sunshine will purify a noisome spot. He is as 
gentle and tractable as a lamb ; and better than all, his old 
faith and piety have come back to him. He goes to Mass 
and the sacraments. The light of heaven seemed to flow in on 
him with your letter. His sorrow for the past was like that 
of a child. I told him not to be disturbed about it, but just 
go on asking for mercy, mercy — only that and nothing more. 

‘ For,’ said I to him, ‘my poor fellow, there’s the eye of God 
looking down ; and as it sees the noxious weed and the fairest 
flower, so it beholds our sins and our waywardness as well 
as our virtues. If these weeds of sin are plucked, the flowers 
of our virtues are just as fair in His sight.’ 

“ But, O dear lady, how the old man sits and longs for the 
hour of reunion ! He is out on the hills when their spurs 
are burnished gold, at the sunset hour; and he is there at 
the dawn waiting for the first beam to light up the Glen of 
the Dargle; he is out in the moonlight watching it making 
strange shapes out of the trees ; and all the time with that 
one thought in his mind. He looks for gold no more, because 
he says his love of it was sinful; and the only treasures he 
seeks for now are the faces of his loved ones. Do not keep 
him long waiting, I entreat. 

“ Tell my pet, Winifred, the robin is out there now, busy 
as ever; and just bursting his breast with the joy of coming 
spring. I am proud and glad to hear of her success at the 
convent and sorry she has to leave it so soon. Say a prayer 
sometimes for the old priest in far-off Ireland, who soon will 
be slipping away to his rest — but not, he hopes, till he lays 
eyes on you again, and thanks you for the happiness you have 
brought to him and to the little ones of his flock.” 

I sat there for some time going over these letters, altern-. 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


195 


ately, and delighting in the pictures which their eloquent 
language evoked. To one thing I made up my mind; I 
should go back to Ireland and be present at the joyful meet- 
ing. Indeed, my eye brightened, my cheek glowed at the 
thought of seeing again those lovely scenes, and of the 
pleasant reunion of hearts at which I was to be present. But 
it was my turn to write a letter, or at least a very brief note, 
asking Roderick to come to me as soon as possible. That 
being Saturday, I thought I should have to wait till Monday 
for his visit. 

Sunday passed in a feverish state of agitation. I was 
going out to supper in the evening, at the very same house 
where I had before met Roderick, but it was unlikely he would 
be there again. What was my surprise to see his tall figure 
standing near the fire talking to our hostess! He saluted me 
gravely. I thought he looked thin and worn; but at first he 
did not come near me: and I feared he had resolved to avoid 
me. As we were all making a move for supper, I managed 
to whisper: 

“ I wrote you a note yesterday. Please promise to comply 
with the request I make you in it.” 

He turned sharply : 

“ You wrote to me? ” he queried. 

“ Yes,” I answered. 

“ May I ask about what ? ” 

Though the words were curt, Roderick’s tone was genial 
and his face smiling. 

“ Merely asking you to come to see me to-morrow even- 
ing — but your partner is waiting, you must go.” 

He turned to the young girl beside him, with an apology 
for his momentary inattention. If his mind was inclined to 
wander from her to the subject of my approaching communi- 


10 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


cation, he was too courteous and too accomplished a man of 
the world to let her perceive it. I was almost sorry I had 
spoken, lest it should spoil his supper. Several times I saw 
him looking at me ; but I only smiled and went on talking 
to my partner, a brilliant lawyer with a great reputation for 
wit. Very soon after supper Roderick came over to me, 
with his usual almost boyish eagerness. 

“ What do you want to say to me ? ” he demanded, smil- 
ing yet imperious. 

“ How do you know I want to say anything ? ” I retorted, 
smiling back. 

“ Of course I know, and I am going to hear what it is, 
too ! ” he cried, seating himself beside me. 

“ Now, Roderick,” I said, “ if I were a charming young 
lady, such as that one you have just left, I could never resist 
that face and that voice. But as matters are, you’ll just 
have to wait till I make up my mind to tell you ; for 
spectacled eyes see without glamor, and gray hairs give us 
wisdom.” 

He laughed and his face took on a brighter look. I fancy 
that he knew by my tone I had good news to tell. 

“ I won’t go to see you on Monday night,” he declared, 
“ unless you give me a hint.” 

“ Well, I will give you a hint, and then you needn’t come 
to see me.” 

“ That is unkind.” 

“ No ; it would only be giving you trouble for nothing. 
The substance of what I have to say to you is this : that you 
must take a trip to Ireland very soon.” 

“ Alone?” 

“ Yes, alone.” 

“ And when I get there ? ” 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


19 7 


“ You’ll be glad you went.” 

He pondered deeply, for some moments. 

“ Isn’t this very like a fool’s errand ? ” he inquired. 

“Which is the fool, he who goes or she who sends?” I 
replied, mischievously. 

“ Can you ask ? ” he laughed. “ A man is nearly always 
a fool when he does a woman’s errand.” 

“ But, seriously, you will go ? ” 

He thought a little longer. 

“ I will,” he answered, “ if you will only promise me one 
thing.” 

“ What is that?” 

“ That there will be an end of all this mystification.” 

“ I promise you that, most solemnly,” I answered. “ Once 
on Irish soil, you shall know everything.” 

“ Tell me now,” he said, with sudden eagerness, “ how 
is Winifred, asthore ? ” 

There was a- world of feeling in his voice, though he came 
out with the epithet laughingly. 

“ Well and happy,” I assured him. 

“Will you give her something from me?” 

“ I’m not so sure,” I said, jestingly ; “ for you’ve quite 
won her heart already. She talks of nothing but the ' dark 
gentleman.’ ” 

A glow of pleasure lit up his face. 

“ And now, what is it you want me to give her ? ” 

He took a small box from his waistcoat pocket. It was 
the prettiest little ring, with a green stone in the center. 

“ The color of hope — the color of Ireland,” Roderick ob- 
served. 

“ A good omen,” I said, looking at the gem, where it 
lay sparkling in the wadding. 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


198 

“ You will give that to Winifred from her unknown friend/’ 
Roderick said. 

“ She will be delighted — though, you know, of course, she 
will not be allowed to wear it in the convent.” 

“ Ah, she is in a convent ! ” he exclaimed. “ But in any 
case, let her keep it as a reminder of me.” 

I thought as I watched him that if Winifred so closely 
resembled her dead mother, she was also like her father. His 
face was as mobile and expressive as hers, allowing always 
for the mask which the years are sure to put over every human 
countenance. 

“ You fancy there is a resemblance in this girl to your 
dead wife? ” 

“ I know there is a resemblance to Winifred’s dead 
mother,” he answered. 

I was silent though I had little reason for concealment 
henceforth. 

“ How cruel you have been all this time,” he exclaimed, 
as he watched me ; “ I think it comes natural to your sex.” 

“ Don’t revile our sex for the faults of your own,” I 
answered. “ But tell me more about your dead wife.” 

His face changed and softened. Then a look came over 
it — a look of tender remembrance, which did him credit. 

“ She was very beautiful,” he began, “ at least I thought 
so. I met her when she was only fifteen. She was the image 
of what Winifred is now, only her beauty was more pro- 
nounced, and she had a haughtier air. I never forgot her 
from that moment. When she was eighteen, we were mar- 
ried. She was only twenty-four when she died, but I re- 
member her still as vividly — ” 

He stopped, as though the subject were too painful, and 
then resumed, half dreamily: 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


199 


“ I am going to tell you now what will lend an added 
value to that little trinket I have given you for Winifred.” 
He paused again, and drew a deep breath, looking at me 
hard. “ It belonged to — to my wife, when she was a child 
of Winifred’s age. Winifred will prize it, because it was — 
her mother’s.” 

I stood up, and Roderick, rising also, confronted me. 

“ Can you deny it ? ” he asked defiantly. 

I was silent. 

“ Pray what is the object of further secrecy?” he pleaded. 
“ Tell me, is not Winifred my child, the child of my dead 
wife? ” 

I bowed my head in assent. Concealment was neither 
useful nor desirable any longer. 

The look of triumph, of exaltation, of joy, which swept 
over his face was good to see. 

“ But you will wait?” I pleaded, in my return. “You 
will go to Ireland, as agreed, and your child shall be all your 
own entirely and forever ? ” 

“ I will wait,” he answered quietly, “ though it is hard.” 

And then we shook hands and parted. I felt that I must 
hurry away: for I could not go on talking of commonplace 
subjects, either to Roderick or to any of the others. As I 
took leave of our hostess she said, laughingly: 

“ You and Mr. O’Byrne were quite melodramatic, stand- 
ing over there a few moments ago.” 

I laughed, but I did not give her any information. When 
I got home I wrote to Niall, telling him that in a month or 
two at furthest I would bring Winifred back, but that 1 
wanted to show her a little of the American continent before 
taking her home. On my next visit to the convent, I did not 
say a word to the child — I was afraid it would unsettle her 


200 


LETTERS AT LAST. 


for her school-work, but I informed her teachers that it 
would be necessary to withdraw her before the expiration of 
the term. After the trip which I intended to take with her 
to Niagara and a few other points of interest, I determined 
to cross the ocean once more and bring Winifred safely back 
to Niall. I should let Roderick sail by the Cunard line, while 
we would take passage by the White Star line, so that our 
arrival would be almost simultaneous. 

I presented Winifred with her ring, though at the time 
I did not tell her it had been her mother’s. She was more 
than delighted, as I had foreseen, and put it at once upon 
her finger. She was vexed, and indulged in one of her childish 
outbursts of petulance, when I explained to her that wearing 
it was against the rules. She had to be content with keeping 
it where she could look at it, very often. She sent a very 
pretty message to Roderick. 

“ Tell him,” she said, “ I remember him when the birds 
sing, when the organ plays, when the sun shines — whenever 
there is happiness in my heart.” 


HOME AGAIN. 


201 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HOME AGAIN. 

The next few weeks were full of the bustle of preparation. 
When I told Winifred she was to leave the convent before 
the end of the term, and, after a few weeks of travel, to 
return to Ireland, she seemed fairly dazed at the unexpected 
news. 

“ Her education, of course, will have to be continued,” 
I thought ; “ but hardly in an American convent.” 

One May morning Winifred took leave of her teachers 
and school friends, and we set out direct for Niagara. When 
we reached the Falls, she was for a time wholly lost in wonder. 
The stupendous mass of falling water seemed to produce 
upon the little girl a curious impression of bewilderment. 

“ Oh, it is grand, grand ! ” she said. “ This America is 
a wonderful place.” 

Winifred and I had, as it were, a surfeit of beauty; and 
so by the afternoon our exclamations of wonder and delight 
became exhausted, and we could only look out upon the lovely 
and varied panorama in silence. But we were roused to ex- 
citement as the afternoon sun began to take a downward slope 
and we neared the far-famed Rapids. The passengers braced 
themselves as if for certain danger (though in reality there 
is comparatively little) as the steamer rushed into the great 


202 


HOME AGAIN. 


masses of foaming water with a lurch and a bound that sent 
a tingle to every nerve. Onward she dashed, the speed seem- 
ing to become more terrific as we descended the ri\er in 
the direction of Montreal. It is a thrilling, though delightful, 
experience. As for Winifred, she seemed to enjoy the situa- 
tion thoroughly. Not a shade of alarm crossed her face, 
while many of the older passengers were visibly agitated. 
From the steamer’s deck we took a last glimpse of the city, 
lying golden in the sunset, with the figure of Our Lady of 
Good Help on the tower of Bonsecours church, stretching 
wide its arms in benediction over the great river which Cartier 
discovered. 

At dawn we were nearing Quebec, and rushed out of 
our cabins for a first sight of the Gibraltar of America. We 
flew past Levis, Sillery, and, rounding Cape Diamond, sud- 
denly beheld the ancient walls, the colossal rock crowned by 
the citadel, with Lower Town, squalid if picturesque, at its 
feet. Landing, Winifred and I took a caleche to the Chateau 
Frontenac, where we breakfasted. 

Recrossing the American borders, we made a short trip 
through the White Mountain region, exulting in those glor- 
ious scenes. At New York we rested a day or two in our 
old quarters, and did a good deal of shopping; for had we 
not Granny and Niall and Father Owen to think of, not to 
speak of Barney and Moira, the landlord of the inn, and 
other Wicklow notables? No one was to be forgotten. 

After this we went into Pennsylvania, one of the most 
wonderful of all the States, and crossed the far-famed Horse- 
shoe bend in the Alleghanies. Winifred looked fearlessly down 
into the vast chasm and saw with composure the end of our 
train on the other side of the ravine. It was a sight upon 
which few could look unmoved. We saw something of the 


HOME AGAIN. 


20 3 


wonders of the mining and coal districts, and the beauty of 
the Delaware and Lehigh. 

We continued our breathless journey to Washington, 
where we remained a few days to rest. It is a beautiful city, 
refreshing to mind and body, though somewhat warm at that 
season of the year; but its noble dwellings, its public monu- 
ments, surpassed and overtopped by the Capitol, have a 
wonderful charm. 

One evening we were strolling along in the very shadow 
of that classic pile when Winifred said: 

“ Barney and Moira will think Fve been in fairyland if 
I tell them half of all I have seen ; but I love dear Ireland 
best, after all.” 

“We shall sail from New York by the next White Star 
liner,” I observed presently ; and I thought within myself : 
“ Roderick will be sailing by the Cunarder. It will be a race 
which shall reach Liverpool first.” 

By an odd coincidence, as I thought thus, Winifred was 
turning round upon her finger the ring which Roderick had 
sent her. 

“ I should like to have seen him,” she said, pointing to 
the ring, “ and thanked him for this. I suppose I shall never 
see him again. I have a strange fancy that I saw him long 
ago, and that he is — ” she hesitated — “ that he is the dark 
gentleman who was angry with the lady in yellow,” she con- 
cluded, slowly. 

“ Dreaming again, Winifred ! ” I said. 

“ This is not dreaming,” she corrected ; “ for sometimes I 
am almost sure it is true, and that he is the same one — only 
I have never seen him angry.” 

“ Perhaps the dark gentleman was not so very angry even 
then,” I suggested, to divert her thoughts from Roderick. 


204 


HOME AGAIN. 


“ Perhaps not,” she said reflectively ; “but I think he was.” 

“ Your father — for the gentleman you speak of was, I 
suppose, your father — was devotedly attached to your mother.” 

“ Was he ? ” inquired Winifred, simply. 

“ Yes, indeed : he thought her the most beautiful creature 
in the world.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” Winifred said ; and, in that fashion 
of hers which so constantly reminded me of her father, she 
turned away from the subject. 

On Saturday morning early we were on board the great 
steamer, in all the bustle of departure; and after a pleasant 
voyage we arrived at Liverpool on schedule time, as the 
guidebooks say, and installed ourselves for the night at a 
comfortable hotel. Next day we set forth to see whatever 
this smoky city of industry has to show. We were passing 
along one of the smokiest and narrowest of streets when 
Winifred suddenly pulled my arm. 

“ Did you see him ? ” she cried excitedly. 

“ Who? ” I inquired, though I partly guessed — being fully 
prepared to see Roderick O’Byrne in Liverpool. 

Winifred touched the ring on her finger to show whom 
she meant. 

“ It may have been only a chance resemblance,” I observed 
evasively. 

“ It was he” she declared decisively, and her eyes sparkled 
with excitement. “ Oh, I am so glad ! ” she went on. “ We 
must find him. I want to thank him for the ring.” 

“ It will be impossible to find him in this crowd,” I 
answered. 

She pointed to a shop. 

“ He is in there,” she cried, “ and I must see him ! If 
you do not come with me, I will go myself.” 


HOME AGAIN. 


205 


She was full of her old impetuosity, urging on my re- 
luctant steps. 

“ One thing that I want to ask him,” she went on, “ is 
whether he knew the beautiful lady in yellow.” 

When we reached the shop door, Roderick stood just in- 
side; and I almost fancied he had stepped in there to avoid 
us, knowing that I did not wish for a premature denouement 
of the little plot. However, his face also wore an eager ex- 
pression, and it lighted as Winifred confronted him. He 
opened the door and came out onto the pavement, looking at 
me for directions. I put my finger to my lips, signifying 
that he must not as yet disclose himself. 

“ I want to thank you for this ring, with its lovely green 
stone,” she said. 

“ It’s only a trifle, little one,” Roderick replied lightly. 

“ I was so sorry when I thought I should never see you 
again,” Winifred cried, impetuously. 

“ Were you ? ” asked Roderick, with an unsteadiness in 
his voice which caused me to give him a warning look. 

“Yes, because I was leaving America forever. And one 
thing I wanted to ask you so much was, if you remembered 
the beautiful lady in yellow. I have been so anxious to know.” 

She looked up into his face with her great, starlike eyes ; 
and he gazed at her in return. 

“ Do I remember the beautiful lady in yellow ? ” he re- 
peated. “ As I hope for heaven, yes, and never shall I forget 
her while I live ! ” 

The answer, however, was given in an undertone, which 
she did not catch. 

“ Because if you knew her,” went on Winifred, “ I was 
going to ask if you were the dark gentleman who slammed 
the door ? ” 


206 


HOME AGAIN. 


“ I’m afraid I was/’ he whispered in my ear. “ How our 
misdeeds do follow us, and what a memory the little one 
has ! I had had a dispute with some one very dear to me 
about going to the old place in Wicklow. She, poor girl, 
had no wish to see the ‘ruin/ as she called it. I lost my 
temper, and so came about the little scene Winifred remembers 
and describes.” 

Turning to Winifred, he asked: 

“ Now, why do you think I could do such a naughty thing 
as slam a door ? ” 

Winifred was confused. Her natural politeness prevented 
her from replying. 

“ Am I so very fierce-looking or so violent ? ” Roderick 
resumed; for he was in high spirits and ready to carry the 
mystery further. 

“It isn’t that,” answered Winifred ; “only you look like him.” 

“ Look like a gentleman that got angry and slammed a 
door?” he said in the same jesting tone. “Now, that is 
too bad of you altogether.” 

His bright, laughing face and sunny manner mystified the 
child even more than his words. 

“Never mind,” he went on; “I forgive you this time, 
but you must really try to get up a better opinion of me. I 
must go now, but we shall meet again, and it won’t be over 
the seas either. I am going to hear more about that un- 
civil dark gentleman who frightened a dear little girl.” 

“ He was cross, too, to the lady,” said Winifred, rather 
defiantly; for she was vexed somewhat by his jesting. 

“ Well, I am sure he was sorry enough for that after- 
ward,” said Roderick, with a sudden clouding of his face — 
“ as we are always sorry for our fits of ill-temper. Remember 
that, my child,” 


HOME AGAIN. 


20 7 


He waved his hand in farewell, and Winifred stood look- 
ing after him. 

“ I am glad we are going to see him again,” she observed; 
though, with the implicit faith of childhood, she did not ask 
when or where. 

When we* had got back to the hotel she talked chiefly of 
Granny and Niall, of Father Owen, and of her humble friends 
Barney and Moira; and could scarcely wait for the night to 
be over and morning to come that we might set out for the 
scenes of her childhood. 

The most impatiently longed-for morrow comes at last. 
It was a gray, lowering day when we left Liverpool. Before 
quitting the hotel, a box of candy was handed to Winifred. 
When she opened it there was a card upon which was 
written : 

“ From the man that looks like the naughty dark gentle- 
man who slammed the door.” 

It seemed as if it must be a dream when we drove in a 
hired car from Dublin once more to the Glen of the Dargle. 
I had written -to the landlord of the neighboring inn to have 
our rooms in readiness. And there he was at his door, stony- 
visaged and reticent; but the stone was furrowed by a broad 
smile as he helped us from the car. 

“ Welcome back, ma’am ! And welcome to you too, Miss 
Winifred alanna ! ” 

Winifred shook him cordially by the hand; and turned 
with a cry of joy to where Moira stood, red in the redness 
of the dying sun which shone out through a mist — for the 
weather had been uncertain all that day; and red, too, with 
a new shyness, which caused her to stand plucking at her 
apron. Barney kept urging her forward, but was not much 
more confident himself. 


208 


HOME AGAIN . 


Winifred’s greeting to them was good to hear. And she 
wound up by the flattering assurance : 

“ You’ll think I’m a real fairy this time when you see 
my trunks open to-morrow.” 

It was some time, however, before that pair of rustic 
tongues were unloosed and they began to chatter away like 
magpies. After a little while Winifred proposed a run ; and 
off they all flew, the young traveler, in spite of the fatigue of 
her journey, leading in the race. Her curls, which had grown 
longer in her absence, formed a cloud about her head. 

“ Father Owen bid me tell you he was off for a sick-call, 
down to Enniskerry below there ; but he’d be back in an hour’s 
time, and you’ll see him as quick as he comes,” said the landlord. 

“ It’s good to get back again,” I said, seating myself on 
the familiar bench at the door, and letting my eyes wander 
over the lovely scenes — the blossoming trees, the gold of the 
laburnum, and the whole sweetened by the pervading fragrance 
of the hawthorn. 

“ We’re proud to have you with us, ma’am,” the landlord 
declared. “We thought the time long since you left.” 

The “we” referred to his better half, who, however, rarely 
left the kitchen, and with whom I had not exchanged half a 
dozen words. 

“ I don’t think I’ll ever go away, again,” I said ; “ so you 
may just as well arrange my rooms accordingly. And now 
what of the schoolmaster ? ” 

“ They tell me,” he said, speaking in a confidential under- 
tone, “ that Father Owen exorcised him — took off of him 
some spell that the 'good people’ had laid upon him, forcing 
him to wander night and day — and scatterin’ his wits.” 

“ At any rate, Niall of the hills has changed his ways, I 
hear,” said I. 


HOME AGAIN. 


209 


“Well, so they tell me; though there are them that met 
him wanderin’ still on the hills. But sure mebbe the poor 
daft crathure was only takin’ the air by moonlight.” 

“ And Granny Meehan ? ” I inquired. 

“ Oh, she’s to the fore ! And it’s her ould heart that’ll be 
rejoiced entirely by your return, not to speak of her colleen.” 

At that moment Winifred entered, with Barney and Moira 
thrown into the background by Father Owen himself, who 
held his little favorite by the hand. 

“ A hundred thousand welcomes ! ” cried the priest, ex- 
tending his unoccupied hand to me. “ So you have brought 
us back the old Winifred, with a new varnish upon her that 
shines from afar. God be praised that we’re all here to 
greet you ! ” 

The landlord, with an exclamation at their dilatoriness in 
serving supper, entered the inn, while Father Owen and I 
moved apart for a few moments. I wanted to tell him that 
Roderick would arrive in a day or two. 

“Thanks be to God!” he ejaculated. “Oh, what joy 
you have brought upon the old house — you, under God! It 
is a privilege thus to make others happy — the sweetest left 
us since the fall of Adam. But now I mustn’t keep you from 
your supper. We’ll have many a long chat in the days to 
come, and I just wanted to welcome you. I suppose you’ll 
go up this evening to Granny and Niall ? ” 

“Indeed I will. But is Niall at the castle?” I asked. 

“ He is. Granny will tell you all,” he answered. 

And what a supper that was in the pleasant inn parlor, 
with the blossoming trees peeping in at the windows and 
the Irish robins singing our welcome ! How savory tasted 
the trout from the stream, fresh-caught; and the rasher of 
bacon, with snow-white oaten cake, the freshest of fresh 


210 


HOME AGAIN. 


butter, and thick cream for our tea! What a walk we had 
up through the hills that lovely evening! Winifred’s eyes 
were full of tears as I recalled to her memory the first time 
she had brought me to the castle. 

“ Isn’t it strange to think of all that has passed since 
then ! ” she whispered, in a voice full of emotion. 

But though changes there had been, there were none in 
the hills. They preserved their immortal beauty, and the 
Glen of the Dargle was as fairy-like as ever in its loveliness. 
At the castle, too, all was the same. Granny sat calm and 
motionless by the great hearth, as though she were under a 
spell; and Brown Peter mewed and purred about her as of 
old. When we entered the room she rose uncertainly from 
her chair. Her voice was plaintive and tremulous with the 
depth of emotion as she cried out: 

“Winifred alanna, is it yourself that’s in it?” 

Presently the child was clasped in her arms ; and I stood 
by, content to be forgotten. At last I asked: 

“Where is Niall?” 

“ Barney will bring you to him,” said the blind woman. 

After a moment he led us to that very hall where the 
game of chess had been played on the silver chessboard for 
the hand of a fair lady. Here Niall had established himself, 
and I caught a glimpse of his tall figure walking up and down. 
I remained without, and sent Winifred in alone. I heard 
one inarticulate cry of joy, and then I walked away to a 
distant end of the corridor, leaving the two together for a 
while. When I returned and entered the hall, I found Niall 
seated in a high-backed armchair, like some king of olden 
days. Winifred was upon her knees beside him, leaning her 
head on his arm. He held out his hand to me, and I was 
struck by his altered expression. Scarce a trace of its former 


HOME AGAIN. 


211 


wildness remained; and his face shone with a deep content, 
a radiating joy. 

“ Daughter of the stranger/’ he said, “ you are one of 
us forever! Whether your home be here amongst our hills 
or the stormy sea divides us, it matters nothing.” 

“ It is my intention to stay here,” I announced, “ amongst 
your lovely scenes, and with you all, who have come so in- 
timately into my lonely life.” 


212 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

RODERICK RETURNS, AND ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 

The great day of Roderick’s home-coming dawned; and 
a glorious one it was, as if Nature were in harmony with 
our joy. The birds sang a perfect chorus in the early morn- 
ing; the blossoming trees never smelled so sweet, the hills 
never blended light and shade more exquisitely, nor the 
streams reflected a bluer sky, than when the car containing 
Roderick O’Byrne drove up to the inn. He sprang out with 
a boyish lightness. 

“ Mr. Roderick O’Byrne,” I exclaimed,- “ Nature is singing 
a perfect hymn for your home-coming ! ” 

“ My heart is singing too,” he replied. “ All I love are 
here before me.” 

When we had cordially shaken hands, I said to him: 

“ Now be very practical and prosaic. Come in and have 
something to eat.” 

“ Oh, I couldn’t ! ” he cried. “ Let us go at once to them.” 

I saw his eyes wandering round in search of Winifred. 

“ Control your impatience just a little while longer,” I 
observed, “and take a sensible meal.” 

“ More mystifications, more delays, O woman of many 
mysteries ! ” 

“ Only one,” I explained. “ I want you and Winifred to 
meet in the Dargle ; though she will probably think you have 
been evolved from the ground by one of her favorite fairies.” 

He laughed. 

“If it is your whim, I must submit; for you have been 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


21 3 


the goddess behind the machine from the first. Continue to 
manage us puppets as you wilL ,, 

“ Only for to-day,” I replied merrily ; “ after that I shall 
disclaim all power over you.” 

He followed me into the inn parlor, where the table was 
laid out; and, having taken a slight repast, was eager to be 
up and away once more. I had not told the landlord who 
my guest was, lest any hint of his advent should prematurely 
get abroad; but I saw the worthy man shading his eyes with 
his hand and peering at him, now coming to the door and 
now retreating. At last, as we rose from table, he burst in 
upon us. 

“ Ah, then, Master Roderick, is it yourself that’s in it ! ” 
And he fell to laughing almost hysterically as he seized and 
wrung the outstretched hand, which Roderick, quick to 
respond to any touch of genuine feeling, extended. He called 
the man by name, and began to recall many a pleasant in- 
cident of boyhood’s days. The delight of mine host of the 
stony visage all but drew tears from my eyes. We enjoined 
secrecy upon him; and then Roderick and I set off for the 
Dargle, where I had bidden Winifred to wait for me. 

“ It is a lovely spot for such a meeting,” I observed to 
Roderick as we went. 

“ Lovely indeed,” he answered. “ My eyes have hungered 
for a sight of it these ten years.” 

We walked on in silence toward it; Roderick taking off 
his hat that the breeze might blow through his hair, and 
drinking in the beauty around us with visible gratification. 

“ An exile’s heart never warms in the land of the stranger,” 
Roderick declared presently. “ There’s something in the native 
air that gladdens the soul.” 

“ Now,” I said, as we entered the beautiful glen, with 


214 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


its atmosphere of poetry, its softened, delicate loveliness, 
“ here it was I first met Winifred, and here she shall meet 
you, and you can tell your tale your own way.” 

I had arranged matters a little melodramatically; Wini- 
fred unconsciously added to the effect by taking her seat 
upon her favorite tree, and, out of the pure gladness of her 
heart, singing a wild song full of trills and quavers like the 
notes of a bird. I slipped away among the trees, and pre- 
sently Roderick spoke. His voice was soft and tender: 

“ Winifred asthore machree ! ” 

Winifred looked at him long and strangely for a few 
seconds, then she abandoned her perilous perch and came 
running down to him swift as a bird upon the wing. Nature 
was speaking very loud in her heart. Roderick stood wait- 
ing for her, holding out both his hands. He took her slender 
ones and held them, looking at her with a long, long look of 
tender affection; then, releasing his right hand, he took from 
his watch chain a locket and opened it. Within, I learned 
later, was a beautiful miniature on ivory. Winifred gave a 
swift, startled cry of joy: 

“ The lady in yellow — oh, it is the beautiful lady ! ” 

“ And I am the dark gentleman, my little one,” Roderick 
whispered. “ Do you know who he was ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Winifred, looking up into his face: “ he was 
my father.” 

“ Have you forgiven him for being cross and slamming 
the door ? ” 

She nodded gravely. 

“ And are you going to love him— to love me very much? ” 

For answer, Winifred threw her arms round his neck, 
weeping for very joy. 

At that moment I left them, and they followed slowly 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


2iS 


up to the castle, Winifred clinging to her father’s arm and 
telling him how she had loved him almost from the first. 
And now a happy and complete confidence was already estab- 
lished between them. 

As they entered the kitchen, I was there with Granny, 
having prepared her somewhat for what was to come. She 
arose, tottering upon her feet and trembling. 

“ Son of my heart, Roderick avick ! ” she cried ; and 
Roderick took the old woman in his strong arms and clasped 
her close, whilst the tears fell unheeded down his cheeks. 
Even the old woman’s love for Winifred had not been so 
great as this other love which she had so long cherished in 
her heart of hearts. 

“ I can not see you, my boy,” she whispered ; “ but 

beautiful as the Mayflowers in the sun of morning is your 
coming, and gladdening to my old heart as the first air of 
spring. Glory be to God and praise and thanksgiving that 
I have been spared to see this day ! ” 

Whilst she still spoke we heard a step coming along the 
stone passage, and the tall figure of Niall entered the room. 
He advanced straight to Roderick, and, to our amazement, 
he bent the knee. 

“ The O’Byrne has come home again ! ” he announce :1 
solemnly. “ The scion of the younger branch does him 
homage.” 

“ What’s that you’re sayin’ about the younger branch ? ” 
exclaimed Granny, beginning to tremble again. “ And who 
are you that talks so?” 

“ I am Niall O’Byrne, the uncle of Roderick and of 
Winifred.” 

Winifred gave a cry of surprise, but poor Granny went 
on with the same trembling uncertainty: 


2l6 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


“ And you’ve been alive all this time ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“You didn’t take any shape?” 

“ Only that of the mad schoolmaster,” Niall explained, 
with a grim smile. 

“ So that’s who he was, praise and glory to God ! ” cried 
the simple old woman. “ And I to be afeard of him when 
he’d come hauntin’ the house at all hours and goin’ on with 
his quare ways ! But sure I might have known — indeed I 
might ! ” 

Granny had known Niall in his younger days, before his 
departure for the East; but after his mysterious return she, 
being blind, had never been able to recognize him, and he 
had purposely kept her in ignorance. She had therefore 
shared all the misgivings of the countryside in regard to the 
treasure-seeker, who from the nature of his pursuits had 
sought to conceal his identity. 

The tears rolled down the old man’s cheeks and he made 
more than one vain attempt to speak; while Winifred patted 
his arm, saying: 

“ Don’t- cry, dear Niall — don’t cry ! We have my father 
back again.” 

At last, mastering his emotion by an effort, and looking 
into the handsome, kindly face before him, Niall spoke: 

“ I knelt to you just now as to the head of our house, the 
representative of the elder branch; but I should have knelt 
as a penitent.” 

“ A penitent ! ” repeated Roderick, in surprise. 

“ I deceived you, I caused you years of suffering ! ” cried 
Niall, in a voice of overmastering agony. “ But, oh, it was 
my love for you, for her, for the old place, that urged 
to it!” 


me 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


21 7 


“ Such faults are easily pardoned,” said Roderick, believ- 
ing that the old man was laboring under some delusion. 

• “ Wait till you hear ! ” said Niall, almost sternly. “ A 

judge must hear the offence before he can pardon. ’Twas 
I who wrote to you that Winifred was dead.” 

“ You?” exclaimed Roderick, the most unbounded amaze- 
ment depicted on his face, and for a moment something of 
Niall’s own sternness clouding its good-humor. “ Why should 
you have done that to me ? ” 

“ Listen ! ” said Niall, extending one hand as if in sup- 
plication. “ I heard you had remarried in America, and that 
was a sad blow to my hopes and dreams. You would never 
come back. Even if my plans succeeded, you would never 
dwell in the old place. And then came the agonizing thought 
that you would take Winifred away, and that with me our 
very name would pass from Wicklow. I deliberately de- 
ceived you. I withheld from Granny Meehan the letter you 
had written her.” 

Granny made an exclamation of “ God forgive you ! ” For 
she, too, had suffered from that wrong. 

“ I caused your letters to the priest to miscarry ; I did 
everything, in short, to cut you off from communication with 
this place. And by hints which I threw out, and vague mes- 
sages which I sent through Winifred to Mrs. Meehan, I filled 
her mind with a fear and distrust of America and people com- 
ing from there. Oh, I remember what anguish I endured 
when this lady first came into this region ! I could have 
killed her where she stood. I believed her to be the second 
wife herself or some emissary from you come to spy upon 
us and discover our secret.” 

Roderick stood all this time, his arms crossed upon his 
breast, a proud look upon his face. 


2l8 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


“ And did you think all this of me ? ” he asked at last — 
“ that I would forget home and kindred, forget the wife 
who lies sleeping in Irish soil, and, taking away my child, 
abandon you all forever? Ah, Niall, you little knew me, 
after all!” 

“ But I had suffered, Roderick ; sometimes my mind wan- 
dered, perhaps, a little,” pleaded the old man, pathetically. 
“ There was a confusion there ; and I only knew that if 
Winifred went away, you were both lost to me forever.” 

Roderick’s face softened. His great generous heart 
touched by that appeal, he cried out: 

“ Uncle, dear uncle, let us not talk of forgiveness, but 
only of your long years of devotion to us all ! We will speak 
no more of what is painful. Now all is peace and joy.” 

Father Owen entered just at that moment, full of genial 
sympathy and heartfelt, simple delight; and with his coming 
the reconciliation was perfect. It took Winifred some time 
indeed to understand her new relation to Niall; but she said 
that in any case she could not love him any better, though 
she was glad he belonged to the old castle and the old race. 

The ornaments from Niall’s cavern were disposed of to 
advantage, and it was a great day when we all went with 
Roderick to the cavern of the Phoul-a-Phooka to examine 
them. The gold was removed to a bank; and, as Roderick 
had brought some considerable savings from America, the 
work of restoration on .the castle was begun. It was not, 
of course, necessary or desirable that the whole edifice should 
be restored to its pristine splendor; and some of the ruin 
remained in all its picturesqueness as a show place for travel- 
ers. But the main building was made both habitable and 
imposing. By some strange convulsion of nature, the cavern 
in which Niall had concealed his treasures, and where he had 


RODERICK RETURNS. 


2IQ 


spent many a lonely night, was destroyed. The rocks fell in, 
and then the mountain stream gushed through it, sweeping 
away all trace of that singular abode. 

Roderick’s return, Winifred’s identity as heiress of the 
O’Byrnes, and Niall’s kinship with the family, were publicly 
announced to the village, all mysteries being at last cleared 
up. But the landlord voiced public sentiment in confiding 
to me that the “ good people ” were surely mixed up in the 
affair, and that it was the removal of the fairy spell bewitch- 
ing Niall, and perhaps Winifred, which had made all come 
right. 

Roderick was from the first the idol of the peasantry, to 
whom he endeared himself in every possible manner. His 
warm Irish nature had never grown cold by change or vicis- 
situde, and he labored in a hundred ways to improve the 
position of his people. He was still in their eyes the hand- 
some and high-spirited lad who had galloped over the country 
on his white horse. 

I became a fixture at the inn; though most of my time 
was spent at the castle, where our little circle was often 
cheered by the presence of Father Owen. Niall at times un- 
bent into positive geniality; and as we sat occasionally in 
homely fashion around the kitchen hearth, that Granny might 
not be excluded from our conferences, and that Barney and 
Moira might draw near unchecked, he told us many a strange 
tale of his adventures as a gold-seeker. Sometimes he brought 
us to the Far East, relating his inquiries into the occult arts 
or the researches of alchemists; and again he led us, by 
many a devious path, through the hills of his native Wicklow 
and along the banks of its streams. Many of his accounts 
sounded like some fabulous tale, a page from an old en- 
chanter’s book. Roderick, who knew that gold, even to the 


220 


RODERICK RETURNS . 


amount of ten thousand pounds, had been in former years 
found in Wicklow, and that mines under government control 
had been established there, was far less surprised than the 
rest of us had been that Niall had succeeded in wresting a 
certain amount of treasure from the earth. 

And Winifred was never again sent away to school. She 
had a governess, and she had Niall to direct her studies, 
Roderick himself taking an interest in them. Her pranks are 
still told as of yore; for — pious, good, exemplary as she is 
in the main, and ruled absolutely by her father, whose will 
to her is law — she has her outbursts of petulance, and her 
old delight in playing a trick now and again on the unwary; 
or she will mystify her nearest and dearest by indulging in 
the unexpected; so that many there are who still know and 
love her as Wayward Winifred. 


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8 


FINN, REV. F. J. S.J.: 

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THE BEST FOOT FORWARD. 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME. 

ETHELRED PRESTON. 

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT. 

HARRY DEE. 

TOM PLAYFAIR. 

PERCY WYNN. 

MOSTLY BOYS. 

FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 


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ANOTHER EASY WAY OF GETTING BOOKS. 

Each year we publish four New Novels by the best Catholic authors. These 
novels are interesting beyond the ordinary; not religious, but Catholic in tone 
and feeling. 

We ask you to give us a Standing Order for these novels. The price is $1.25 
a volume postpaid. The $5.00 is not to be paid at one time, but $1.25 each time 
a volume is published. 

As a Special Inducement for giving us a standing order for these novels, we 
will give you free a subscription to Benziger’s Magazine. This Magazine is recog- 
nized as the best and handsomest Catholic magazine published. The regular 
price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 

Thus for $5.00 a year — paid $1.25 at a time — you will get four good books 
and receive in addition free a year’s subscription to Benziger’s Magazine. The 
Magazine will be continued from year to year, as long as the standing order for 
the novels is in force, which will be till countermanded. 

Send $1.25 for the first novel and get your name placed on the subscription 
list of Benziger’s Magazine. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36 and 38 Barclay Street. 343 Main Street. 21 1 and 213 Madison Street. 


Small size reproductions of the colored art pictures appearing in Benziger' s Magazine. 



“ Let the adornments of home be chaste and holy pictures, and, still more, sound, interesting, and 
profitable books." — III. Plenary Council of Baltimore. 

SUBSCRIBE TO 



The Popular Catholic Family Monthly. 

WITH COLORED ART SUPPLEMENT, SUITABLE FOR FRAMING, IN EVERY OTHER ISSUE. 

SUBSCRIPTION, $2.00 A YEAR. 

WHAT BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE FURNISHES IN A SINGLE YEAR: 

Six Art Pictures in colors, suitable for framing, size 8 x 12 inches. 

Fifty complete stories, equal to a book selling at $1.25. 

Three complete novels, equal to three books selling at $1.2=5 each. 

800 illustrations, including many full-page reproductions of celebrated paintings. 
Twenty articles on travel and adventure, equal to a book of 150 pages. 

Twenty articles on our country, historic events, etc., equal to a book of 150 pages. 

Twenty articles on painting, music, sculpture, etc., equal to a book of 150 pages. 

Twelve pages of games and amusements for the young. 

An unsurpassed Woman’s Department, with many helpful suggestions. 

Current Events : Important happenings described with pen and pictures. 

Twelve prize competitions, in which valuable prizes are offered. 


Benziger' s Magazine is recommended by 6 S Archbishops and Bishops of the United States . 



BOOKS FOR THE CATHOLIC FAMILY 

AT POPULAR PRICES. 

POPULAR INSTRUCTIONS ON PRAYER. By Very Rev. Ferreol Girardev, C.SS.R. 
Paper, $0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

POPULAR INSTRUCTIONS TO PARENTS ON THE BRINGING UP OF CHILDREN. 

By Very Rev. Ferreol Girardey, C.SS.R. 321110. Paper, $0.25; cloth, $0.40. 

POPULAR INSTRUCTIONS ON MARRIAGE. By Very Rev. Ferreol Girardey, C.SS.R. 
321110. Paper, $0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

INSTRUCTIONS ON THE COMMANDMENTS AND SACRAMENTS. By St. Alphonsus 
de Liguori. 321110. Paper, $0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

THE CHRISTIAN FATHER. What He Should Be and What He Should Do. 321110. Paper, 
$0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

THE CHRISTIAN MOTHER. The Education of Her Children and Her Prayer. 321110. 
Paper, $0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

CATHOLIC BELIEF. By Very Rev. Fail di Bruno. i6mo. Paper, $0 25 ; cloth, $0.50. 

WHAT THE CHURCH TEACHES. An Answer to Earnest Inquirers. By Rev. E. Drury. 
161110. Paper. $0.30; cloth, $0.60. 

SPIRITUAL PEPPER AND SALT, for Catholics and Non-Catholics. By Rt. Rev. W. 
Stang, D.D. i6mo. Paper, $0.30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

CATHOLIC CEREMONIES AND EXPLANATION OF THE ECCLESIASTICAL YEAR. 
By the Abb^ Durand. With illustrations. 161110. Paper, $0.30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

THE SACRAMENTALS OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. By Rev. A. A. Lambing. With 
illustrations. i6mo. Paper, $0.30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

EXPLANATION OF THE GOSPELS AND OF CATHOLIC WORSHIP. Ry Rev. L. A. 
Lambert and Rev. R. Brennan. With illustrations. 161110. Paper, $0.30; clot+i, lj>o.6o. 

CATHOLIC PRACTICE AT CHURCH AND AT HOME. The Parishioner’s Little Rule 
Book. By Rev. A. L. A. Klauder. With illustrations. i6mo. Paper, $0 30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

ILLUSTRATED EXPLANATION OF THE CREED. By Rev. H. Rolfus. With Numerous 
Examples from Scripture, the Holy Fathers, etc. With many full-page illustrations. 
i6mo, cloth, $1.00. 

ILLUSTRATED EXPLANATION OF THE HOLY SACRAMENTS. With Numerous Ex- 
amples from Scripture, the Holy Fathers, etc. Illustrated. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. 

ILLUSTRATED EXPLANATION OF THE COMMANDMENTS. By Rev. H. Rolfus. 
With Numerous Examples from Scripture, the Holy Fathers, etc. Illustrated. i6mo, 
cloth, $1.00. 

GOFFINE’S DEVOUT INSTRUCTIONS ON THE EPISTLES AND GOSPELS. Illustrated 
Edition. Preface by Cardinal Gibbons. 140 illustrations. 704 pages. 8vo, cloth, $1.00. 

LIVES OF THE SATNTS. With Reflections for Every Day. Numerous full-page illustra- 
tions. 400 pages. 8vo, cloth, $1.50. 

PICTORIAL LIVES OF THE SAINTS. With nearly 400 illustrations. 600 pages. 8vo, 
cloth, $2.50. 

For sole by all Catholic booksellers , or sent postpaid 01 receipt of price by the publishers, 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 


New York : 
36-38 Barclay Street. 


Cincinnati : 
343 Main Street. 


Chicago : 

211-213 Madison Street. 



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